


Deans Do Come True (Six Degrees of Dean x You)

by DeansDirtyPiehole



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Boss Dean Winchester, Breathplay, Bukkake, Choking, Cock Slut, Cock Worship, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Daddy Dom Dean Winchester, Daddy Kink, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Large Cock, Dean Winchester In Love, Dean Winchester Talks Dirty, Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean Winchester is a God, Dean Winchester's Big Beautiful Cock, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Established Dean Winchester/Reader, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Flogging, Fucking, Gangbang, Gun Kink, Hand Jobs, Kinky Dean Winchester, Kissing, Knifeplay, Making Love, Master/Pet, Master/Servant, Master/Slave, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pain, Porn, Punishment, Reader-Insert, Rimming, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, S&M, Sex, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Slapping, Slut Shaming, Smut, Spanking, Teabagging, Teasing, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2019-10-31 11:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 71,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyPiehole/pseuds/DeansDirtyPiehole
Summary: You really wish Dean Winchester, your one true love, could fuck you hard in every hole at once.Sadly, he can't. But six versions of him can. And that's a wish this magic pearl can grant. Maybe an angel, a demon, and four different versions of Dean as a human? Yeah, they can gang up on their dirty slut all at once. Give you just what you want.*****"Look, I’m not gonna screw over the whole damn world order, okay?" you say. "I don't want this version of reality to last for too long. So it won't. I just want to get fucked by all of you in every hole.""In case you didn't notice, beautiful..." the one with the thigh holster says, gesturing at all six incarnations of himself, "you don't even have this many holes."The demon chimes in. "Oh, we can get creative. Or cut new ones. If she wants."The 'real' Dean has had enough. "God, just fucking stop!""God's not here right now," the archangel declares. "There are no rules. Not in this world. Just dreams coming true. Her darkest, dirtiest, deepest desires."Then he starts coming toward you. "So why don't you tell us all, sweet baby girl. In deliciously... exquisitely... explicit detail."Oh holy fuck."What do you want?"





	1. One and Only

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo the Deanbitch in me got inspiration for yet another filthy dirty fic and I couldn't resist... I'll try to still keep working on my other fics. Promise :P
> 
> The tags and summary pretty much say it all, but yeah. This fic is about getting gang-banged by Dean. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's had this kind of dream ;) Hope you enjoy these shameless scenes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To set things up, this first scene is just some sweet steamy Impala sex with your one true love Dean...

 

"You know what's the one bad thing about you, baby?" you murmur to your gorgeous green-eyed lover. This divine god of a man who is your everything, always has been and always will be.  _Your one and only Dean Winchester._

"Mm?" his velvet voice vibrates in response, husky as ever and heavy with whiskey. You love the way he's cradling your face as he makes love to you in Baby, slow and sweet in the backseat, the windows fogged and leather slick with heat. Dean's sweat-laced scent fills up your lungs as he leans close, tracing the corners of your smile with his thumbs.

Your smile brightens as you pull him down into a kiss, whispering words against his lips. "That I can never get enough. That I can't have you fucking me in every hole at once."

"Hmm," he mischievously hums, taking your lower lip between his pearly teeth, biting just hard enough, releasing slowly, smirking at the breathless bliss that's written all across your face. "Think I'll take that as a challenge, babe."

"Knew you would."

Just as he should. Dean always rises up to any challenge, good and hard. He doesn't waste a second. Starts to dominate your mouth with his, more of an oral face-fuck than a kiss, using his tongue like it's a goddamn dick, leaving you even more breathless. Meanwhile he has slid his massive cock out of your pussy to thrust deep inside your ass, three of his thick fingers slipping into your soaking cunt in the same instant, the sudden fullness in both holes making you gasp—though the sound has nowhere to go, what with the way his tongue is plunging down your throat.

By the time he's done, you've completely lost count of just how many times you've come. Forgotten all about whatever world exists beyond this car. Your hazy gaze stares up into his flawless face, each feature set so perfectly in place, the sacred beauty of each freckle hitting you hard as a falling star. Your long-time boyfriend— _fiancé_ , you remind yourself for the millionth time, ever since yesterday—is a fucking sex god, and you will never get over how lucky you are.

"How was that for ya," Dean huffs out with a cocky grin, dropping a tender kiss on your quivering chin. He's clearly quite proud of how well he has just pounded you in every hole, using his cock and mouth and hands to fuck you up real good, the way you'd said you wish he could. Because hot damn, he _can_.

"Mmmmn. As if you have to ask," you moan, kissing him hard on that sinful mouth of his before shifting position, skin gliding against skin until you have him leaning back against the leather with your head deep in his lap, kissing and licking all over his throbbing pink shaft. "But you know what I mean. Your fingers and tongue are fucking _awesome_ , Dean, but what I meant is that..."

He groans and grips your hair as your tongue swirls lovingly around the head of his dick, lapping up all the come that's still lingering there, every sweet precious drop.

Sealing your lips tightly around the tip, you pause there before pulling off with a loud, sloppy pop. "...I just _always_ need more of this cock."

"Ugh  _God_ , sweetheart..." Dean sighs, his length still hard, pulsating as you wrap both of your hands around it. "So what are—are you asking me to grow another dick? You know I'd do any damn thing for you, Y/N, but that sounds pretty freaky. Even in my book."

You smile but don't stop to answer that just yet, because you're too busy adoring this perfect piece of meat clutched in your fists, just barely able to encircle the glorious girth of it. Though you love his sense of humor, you love this huge cock even more.

And Dean knows just how much you love his dick—especially when you're so passionately showing it like this—but still, his ego is more sensitive than he likes to admit. He grumbles, a cute little pout on his full, luscious lips. "And now Little Dean is pissed because you're making him feel inadequate."

You let out a breathy laugh, a muffled sound through lips still pressed against his shaft. "Well, he's still fucking delicious when he's pissed. And anyway—you know we never call him that," you say, tilting your head to look up into his beloved face. "Just... forget I ever said anything, okay? I can't help it that you make me such a greedy little slut. But  _Big_ Dean is perfect, I promise. You're perfect."

Your godly gorgeous fiancé smirks down at you again, glistening tongue flicking out over his lips, his grip on your head suddenly harsher and more dominant. Just the way he knows you like it. "Good. Then shut the fuck up, bitch."

 _Fuck_ yes. He is the one and only love of your life, and he knows it, and he knows you love it when he talks dirty like this.

"And suck it."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this whetted your appetite for what's to come ;) Please do let me know if so! Kudos and comments are awesome and always much appreciated <3


	2. Heart's Desire

 

There are a lot of things that fucking suck about the fact that your fiancé is possessed by an archangel. There are a shit ton of reasons to really, truly, deeply hate Michael.

And you do. Of course you do. But your main reason to despise him is the fact that, while he's riding in the man you love, wearing his perfect vessel so well, looking fine as hell in that beautiful meatsuit... in a sick and twisted way, you kind of sort of love him, too. Want him to fucking  _fuck_ you.

And the equally fucked fact that, for as long as Dean remains possessed, the two of you absolutely cannot have sex.

It is literal hell.  _Maybe oral would be okay_ , you often think to yourself. It's not as if swallowing his come while Michael is inside of him could get you pregnant with a nephilim.  _Could it?_ You should be allowed to blow him till that stupid hat falls off his pretty head. Is it bad how you find it super hot that, with one quick snap of Dean's fingers, this royal asshole of an archangel could kill you dead? And you would want to thank him for it?  _Ugh. Yes, it's beyond bad. Fucking shit._

In any event, your inner dirty slut may be desperate for Michael to bang you while he's wearing Dean, but you know that it can never happen. That it's just a goddamned guilty, filthy fantasy. As it'll always have to be. Even now that Dean has so heroically managed to find a way to keep the angel locked up tight inside his mind, to make himself the cage... still you two can't risk getting intimate. You both know that the risk is just too great.

For some time now, you've been sleeping every night in separate beds to prevent 'accidental' sex. It's necessary, given how on fire you constantly are for each other. And it's the worst torture that you have ever suffered. It's been too damn long since you've had any form of sex with your irresistibly sexy fiancé.

But now... now the Winchesters have gotten their hands on a little piece of magic that, just maybe, just might save the fucking day. 

It sounds ridiculous, but it's an ancient pearl that can apparently grant wishes. You and the two brothers are gathered in the bunker, staring in silence at the mystical object, hoping and praying that it's as powerful as the lore says it is.

No doubt Dean should be the one to make the wish. He wants Michael out of his head more than anyone. All he has to do is clutch the pearl, concentrate on what his heart truly wants. You hold your breath as he takes it in his hand...

"Wait," Sam cuts in just then. "Maybe... maybe you should be the one to do it, Y/N."

"What? Why?" you and Dean ask in seamless unison.

Sam shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. "Well—knowing both of you, I just think that Dean's desires are a bit more... complicated. That he's more likely to... um... fuck this up."

His big brother scowls darkly. "Well hell, Sammy, nice to see you have such faith in me."

"I mean—Dean, you have to admit that Y/N loves you a hell of a lot more than you do. Her heart's desire is whatever's best for you," Sam says, and none of you doubt for a second that it's true. "Michael out of your head. That's what's best. And I'm sure some part of you wants that for yourself. But I... I bet you want other things, too."

Dean's bottom lip trembles a bit. 

 _Well, shit._ That tremble never fails to break your heart, fucking tear it apart, and you know now that you have to be strong for him, stronger than he's able to be in this moment. 

"Sam's right," you sigh, reaching toward Dean with an open, upturned palm. "I'll do it."

The shameful thought crosses your mind for a split second of just how badly you want Michael, wearing Dean's skin, to shove you up against a wall and make you scream for him... but no, no,  _no_ , that is  _not_ your heart's desire. 

Just like you had to keep telling yourself, back when Dean turned into a demon a few years back, that it was not your heart's desire for him to stay that way forever. Though it still makes you wet as fuck whenever you reminisce about that roguishly slick, ruffled hairstyle of his... or remember the mind-blowing way he used to surprise you from behind all the time— _slamming you against the nearest surface, strangling your throat with his savage fists, eyes flashing black as he's brutally bending you over..._

You bite your lip and struggle to stop thinking about it. That cannot be your heart's desire. Those kinds of thoughts may set your whole body on fire, but they don't go any deeper. That's not what you want in the depths of your heart and your soul. And that's what matters, for purposes of the pearl. Its mystical power will latch on to your love for Dean, true and pure. This magic pearl won't care that you're a dirty little girl.

Dean hasn't let go of it yet; he pauses, deep green gaze searching yours. "You sure?"

Your head dips in a steady nod. "Of course."

After another brief pause, he lifts his hand toward your open palm. "Okay. Here you go, babe," he murmurs. "Love you."

You scrunch your brow slightly at him, then stifle a gasp as the magic pearl makes contact with your skin. It feels  _heavy_ , for such a small thing.  "What'd you say that for?" you wonder aloud, eyes bright beneath your furrowed brows, not needing words to tell him that you love him more.

Dean shrugs, broad shoulders beautifully rising and falling. "Just in case, I guess. In case things get... different."

"Well, that's kind of the whole point, stupid," you tease, clutching the pearl tight as you lean into his lips for a sweet little kiss. "But some things will never change. Promise."

"Can you two, um, cut the shit?" Sam interrupts just then. "I'm getting sick of putting up with all your chick flick moments."

Dean smiles faintly, cradling your clenched fist in his for a second, heaving a deep breath as he releases it. "Go on, Y/N. Make your wish." His smile curls into a smirk as he imagines just how good it'll feel to finally get rid of Michael, to finally free himself from the abominable archangel. "Let's kick the shit out of this glowy-eyed, feather-assed son of a bitch."

You lock your gaze on his one last time with a smile before shutting your eyes, pearl secured in your fist, firm and tight. Forcing all dirty thoughts from your mind. Focusing on what Dean truly needs: _to cast out the angel, to finally be free..._

Then suddenly, the lights in the bunker begin to buzz and flicker. Your eyes flash open at the sound, and then your heart sinks as they all switch off, plunging the room into darkness, ominous shadows all around, broken only by the sinister scarlet glow of emergency lighting.  _Fuck—this cannot be good_ , you figure, looking up to see your apprehension mirrored in the gaze of your beloved fiancé.

But then the apprehension fades. A breathless smile slowly, surely, spreads across his face. A look of peace, relief as everything inside of him falls right back into place.

The beautiful expression gives you all the hope you need.  _Does this mean... that Michael has left the scene? That Dean is finally back to being freely—really, truly... Dean?_

"Y/N..." he sighs, the look in his eyes providing the answer to your question, beaming bright as his arms open wide to surround you and pull you close, holding you tight. "You did it.  _You did it._ He—he's finally gone. For good this time."

Your cheek is pressed against his chest, where you can feel the sacred beauty of his heartbeat.  _Dean. All Dean. Your one and only Dean._

Part of you wishes that this hug would never end. But then you feel a shift, your lover's sculpted muscles tight and tense all of a sudden. Your first instinct is to panic— _Michael must have never really left_ , you think—but no. That's not the problem.

Dean pulls away slowly from the embrace, eyes surveying the dim-lit space, searching the shadows anxiously. "Wait—where... where's Sammy?"

Nowhere to be found. Your heart sinks again, for the second time this minute, so heavy with dread that it falls down somewhere deep beneath the ground. Something is  _wrong_ , dead wrong, and it's not just the fact that Sam is gone.

You and Dean are alone in this room, the only two souls to be seen. You watch his throat contract, trying to swallow down his horror, just before his mouth opens to call out for his brother—

"Wait," you whisper.

Dean stays silent then, dark green stare shifting to your face, but you don't meet his gaze. You're looking over his shoulder. 

There's a figure at the door across the room. A shadow you know all too well, a distinct silhouette you could never forget. Even from this distance, in such dimness, still you can tell that the familiar shirt the man is wearing matches the color of the current emergency lighting, a dark dangerous red. He's got a hammer in one hand, the other hanging loosely at his side, though you know that in a second it could clench into a fist savage enough to knock you dead.

And even just his silhouette looks so damn hot right now that, if he did... well, like a twisted little bitch, you'd want to thank him for it.

You gulp.  _Yup, that's how twisted this is. Apparently—no matter how unintentionally—you have screwed everything over with your magic wish. Fucked shit up. All the way up._

The human Dean standing before you doesn't even know it yet. But he will soon; he slowly starts to turn his head.

 _Oh shit_ , you think. It's all you can manage to think in this heart-stopping moment.  _Oh. Fucking. Shit._

 

__

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks always for kudos and comments!! Would love to hear if you're enjoying this and/or excited for what's next :)


	3. Come Again

 

"Well, this oughta be fun."

The demon's sinful lips curl up into a smirk as he saunters into the room. And  _damn_ , your insides have already turned to fucking pudding at the sight of him.

The effect of the handsome devil's presence on your precious fiancé is... just a little different. His human eyes are burning up with fury, bulging wide. "What the—"

"...fuck?" the demon finishes his sentence, dark gaze shifting toward yours as he comes closer. "Yeah, I bet that's what she wants. From both of us at once. Isn't it, slut."

"You stay the hell away from her, you black-eyed piece of shit," Dean rasps, whipping a knife out from his pocket as he shifts to stand in front of you. His alpha-male protective urges usually make you swoon, but right now, you sort of just resent him for blocking your view.

"Ohh, what’s that? A shiny little toothpick?" the demon taunts, obviously undaunted by the weapon. "Real cute."

Then, just as you're about to faint from the intoxicating heat of having two Deans in one room, another voice—same as the other two, and yet so different—shouts out from somewhere behind you. "Nobody move or I’ll fucking shoot!"

All three of you turn toward the source of the sound. Even louder than that voice had been, your pounding heart resounds, as the walls between reality and your most twisted fantasies continue tumbling down.

One Dean had always been heaven—two Deans, human and demon, is heaven ablaze with the fire of hell—and three? When this third incarnation appears on the scene, it's heaven and hell and every damn thing in between. The emergency red glow fades out as the lights throughout the bunker incidentally come back on, giving you a clear view of this vaguely familiar vision of Dean. He's got an army green jacket over his heather gray henley, a thick black belt showing above rugged, dirt-stained blue jeans. The last time you saw him was 2014, a version of that year from some alternate world that never should have been. 

You remember it now: you and the 'true' Dean had been sent to that timeline, a long while ago, to witness one possible progression of history. Colliding with the version of your lover who would have existed in that universe. And you remember what had made that man so different from the one you knew—the shade of his eyes was darker, the creases of angst on his handsome face deeper and sharper.

But mostly you just remember his ridiculously sexy thigh holster. Black straps fastened firmly around his sturdy quads, holding multiple handguns against the muscles of his legs, sheathed securely in tight slots. Dean is always drop-dead gorgeous, but wearing his weapons like this, he looks like even more of an absolute sex god, above and beyond fucking hot. It's such a twisted turn-on that from the moment you'd laid eyes on him back then, part of you had wanted him to pull one of his toys out of that damn holster and shoot you in the head.  _Really gives a whole new meaning to drop-dead..._

All of these thoughts run through your mind in a split second, during which Holster—as your smutty subconscious is calling him—has lowered his gun. He is now staring at your fiancé and the demon with an expression of utter exasperation.

"Ugh, you again?" he groans. "I mean— _me_  again?"

"Hmm yeah, kinda hard to handle so much pretty in one room," the demon responds before the 'real' Dean can. He takes a step forward, closer to Holster, though his naughty gaze then turns to lock on yours. "Though I gotta say, babe... all of us put together still ain't half as pretty as you."

The Dean beside you fumes. "You say another word, I swear I'll slit your—"

"...throat? Yeah, that's right, I could go on finishing your sentences all night," the demon says with a mischievous lip bite. "After all, I am  _you_ , remember. Why slit your own throat when I'm sure this filthy girl would rather we all take turns fucking hers?"

"Y/N," Holster addresses you then, which you hadn't expected. Maybe hesitant to interrupt the testosterone-fueled tension raging between the other two versions of him. "Wanna tell me what year it is? What the hell is happening? I'd ask myself, but—well, I don't trust either of these bastards."

You swallow down a lustful grunt, trying not to let your eyes wander down toward his finger on the trigger of his gun, toward all the other lethal playthings in his holster. "It's... uh... 2019," you stutter.  _As to his second question..._  you can damn well guess the answer, but you're not entirely sure. You tell him so. "That's kind of all I know."

The Dean from 2014 rolls his dark, jaded green eyes. "Great. No wonder both of me look so damn old."

"Oh, don't pretend you're not a little jealous of your future self," the demon calmly defends his undeniably stunning appearance. "We age like a fine wine and you know it."

Your fiancé cuts in, not above agreeing with his black-eyed twin on one thing. "It's true, but, um—don't listen to this one for a second. He's a goddamn demon."

Holster blinks. "Come again?"

"And again... and again..." the demon says, voice rich and slick as honey-coated sin, gaze fixated on your face, ignoring the glares from the other two men. "Three of us and this slut? Yeah, I think we all can."

The tense, sexually charged silence that follows those words is quickly broken by a sudden thud from elsewhere in the room. You all turn to see what had caused it; to no surprise, really, it's yet another version of him.

"Or..." the demon purrs, a depraved grin tugging at the corner of his luscious upper lip, "...make that four."

The Dean beside you heaves a gruff sigh of frustration. "Oh, come  _on_..."

With your arousal already building up to the point of bursting, it physically pains you to take in the sight of this fourth incarnation. You realize soon enough that you've never actually seen this one in person. Nonetheless, it doesn't take you long to realize who he is.

"Dean Fucking Smith," your fiancé grumbles beneath his breath.

He had told you about this version of himself, once several years ago. A corporate douchebag who—like Holster—existed only in an alternate reality. Dean had been sent to experience life in Mr. Smith's skin for some time to realize how much worse his life could have been. He had retained some memories of that experience when he returned, and told you all about how glad he was  _not_  to be that kind of Dean.

And you were glad about it, too; you really love your weapon-wielding warrior who would never be caught dead in a white collar. You love the ragged flannels and rugged boots he always wears. And yet, ever since hearing about a universe in which Dean wields a different kind of dominance—sitting in a position of prestige and power in a prim and proper office—you've had many dirty dreams about working beneath him in the same building. Stealing glances at his fine ass in well-tailored slacks whenever you cross paths in the halls, being summoned in one day to see the boss. A boss who loves to deal out discipline to his subordinates. Having him bend you over his polished hardwood desk for a rough spanking, or slam your naked body up into his big, wide office window to fuck you against the glass and give the whole damn world a show.

For one reason or another, you've never told your fiancé about it. Probably because you hate to make him feel inadequate. He would agree to buy obnoxious fancy work clothes for some roleplay if you begged for it, but after his somewhat traumatic experience of existing as Dean Smith, he wouldn't enjoy that kind of sex as much as you would. So you'd always just kept those fantasies in your own head. He never had to know.

Till now, you suppose.

You let your hungry eyes devour the dapper boss man for a second, knowing that you don't have any longer than that before the other Deans start bickering again and diverting your attention. Mr. Smith has appeared out of nowhere in a chair alongside a table nearby, his elbows braced against the wooden surface, upper body slightly hunched as he leans over it. His expression is one of complete bewilderment. Emerald eyes oozing confusion, beneath brows furrowed to form that precious crinkle just over the bridge of his nose, that little crease you always love to see on Dean, plump pink lips parted as if caught mid-sentence. His rich brown hair is combed and styled in a way that you can tell is really making your fiancé want to punch him in the face. He's wearing a crisp light blue button-down, clearly freshly ironed, a pale golden tie that you really want him to use as a blindfold, binding tight around your eyes, and suspenders slung over his shoulders that are so fucking professionally sexy that it makes you want to die.

And there's an earpiece clipped around his ear, a small microphone extending from it to hover near the chiseled ridge of his cheekbone. The boss blinks blankly at the four of you before clicking a button to check the connection on his office-issued tech equipment. Once it's clear that it's not working, he blinks again, gesturing toward all of you with his clean corporate hands. The same hands of the Dean that you know and love so much, and yet so very different.

Mr. Smith's delicious-looking tongue slides out from beneath his front teeth, curling against the edge of his upper lip just before he speaks. "Is... is this some kind of virtual reality videoconference?"

The demon lets out a lascivious laugh. And your core convulses in a twitch of wet, hot, shameless pleasure and bliss. It won't be long before Mr. Smith gets a sense of just how wrong he is.

There's nothing virtual about what's happening. This is straight up reality. Just the way the dirty bitch in you—the whore who's aching to be filled in every hole with ever more of Dean—wants it to be. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more Deans left to introduce... and then the filthy smut ensues ;)
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying this! Always looove kudos and comments <3


	4. Lucky Guess

 

"Huh. I've definitely never had _this_ dream before."

All five—you and the four Deans who have already arrived—of your heads turn, upon hearing those words. Before anyone could respond to Mr. Smith's ridiculous question, this sudden interruption had cut in, uttered by yet  _another_ version of your lover. Of course.

He has appeared by the far wall, in a black V-neck tee, perfectly fitted to his chiseled upper body, tight enough to leave little to the imagination yet loose enough somehow to still look manly, and equally well-fitting dark wash jeans. No flannel or jacket or anything—just the one shirt. That catches your attention, because even in the heat of summer, wearing only one layer is typically inconceivable for Dean. So is the light ginger-brown facial hair that so strikingly fringes and shades this man's jawline, much more than the faint five-o'clock stubble that your fiancé likes to constantly keep. And the new guy's hair is cut and styled differently from any form of Dean you've ever seen: trimmed almost to a buzz along the sides, somewhat longer on top, in an effortlessly fashionable way that highlights those familiar handsome features and makes him look—even more so than usual—like some kind of male model or Hollywood heartthrob. He carries himself with the confident ease of a man who has millions of fans, most of whom he knows would jump at the chance to sell their souls just to give him a blowjob.

 _Who the hell is he_ , you wonder for a second before realizing soon enough. Realization dawns swiftly. After just one look, without a doubt you would count yourself among his hordes of horny fangirls already, and your hormone-driven impulse is to react accordingly. Just like with Mr. Smith, you've never laid eyes on this version of Dean before, but you've definitely imagined plenty, based on what your fiancé has told you about him.  _And good God, he is even more gorgeous than you'd thought_. Like a teenager laying eyes on the idol from her bedroom wall posters magically brought to life, you can feel your cheeks blushing bright red, burning hot.

The true Dean, naturally, isn't quite as impressed. "Who the fuck is this Blue Steel douchebag?" he angrily asks.

You swallow, both from a slutty burst of thirst for this fifth incarnation, and from anxiety as you see your fiancé's knife-wielding hand dangerously twitching. "I think it's... um... Jensen Ackles."

"I'm sorry,  _Jen_? Jen Snackles?" Holster inaccurately echoes. You notice then that his gun is raised and pointing straight at Jensen's flawless face; clearly your betrothed isn't the only one who's not much of a fan of his pretty-boy clone. "What kind of..."

Then Jensen Ackles fucking  _chuckles_ , and starts slowly unbuckling his belt with one hand, and the laugh and the act are so obscenely out of place—what with the high tempers and tension raging all throughout the room—that it shuts everyone up. The four guys must just be confused and surprised, but for your part, you are absolutely hypnotized, watching the toned muscles of the actor's forearm flex as he removes his belt, pulling the unfastened strip of leather through the loops of denim in one smooth, deliberate motion. And then he holds one end in his masterful hand and fucking twirls the thing around, and it's a wonder you haven't collapsed in a puddle of drool on the ground.

"Now this... this is gonna be one hell of a fun dream," Jensen says, playful emerald eyes locked on yours, then flashing you a wicked wink, bringing you even closer to collapsing as his sinful lips spread into Dean's signature ever-so-slightly perfectly lopsided grin. Then he takes a couple of steps forward, slinging the belt over his shoulders, gesturing toward your fiancé and then toward Holster. "So you must be the 'real' Dean, and you're the one from "The End", I guess—what year was that supposed to be again, 2014...?"

Holster keeps his handgun aimed at Jensen as he stares him down. "I dunno what kind of 'end' you think you're talking about, but one more word outta your painted whore mouth—"

The demon cuts him off. "Now now, trigger-happy, simmer down. No need for that kind of low blow. Ken doll here isn't even wearing makeup; he's just born with the Maybelline glow. And painted or not, there's only one whore in this room, we all know."

If you meet the demon's black gaze now, you're pretty damn sure you'll explode, so you just look down at the floor and softly clear your throat. 

Your womanly honor is once again valiantly defended by your fiancé. "You keep talking about her that way and I will stab you in your face," he says, fist clenching tight on the hilt of his blade as he scowls at the demon. It's precious that Dean thinks your dignity is worth defending, really, given what you're feeling in this room with five versions of him in front of you...  _all your dark dirty desires, what you so desperately crave..._

Holster joins Dean in your defense, pointing his gun at the demon. "What he said. And a bullet would get the job done quicker than a blade. So you shut your black-eyed face, and you—" he turns to look at Jensen again, though without shifting his weapon's aim, "you tell me where the hell you're from and why you've got a girl's name."

The demon snickers, just quietly enough that it doesn't quite tempt Holster to pull the trigger. You take a breath and take a second to reflect on what is happening. It makes sense that the demon is familiar with Jensen; he carries all of the human Dean's memories with him, after all, and the whole Jensen Ackles alternate universe experience had occurred long before your boyfriend had turned into a demon. The demon, in fact, knows everyone in the room: from Mr. Smith, to Holster, to you. Poor Mr. Smith is the most clueless, given that he only exists in a world that's completely removed from all this. So does Jensen, but then again—based on what you'd heard from the Winchester brothers, years ago after they had visited the world of Jensen Ackles and Jared Padasomething—that universe is one in which Jensen plays Dean on television.  _Maybe this Jensen has now been plucked out of a later point in time in that universe_ , you figure.  _Maybe by now he has played Dean in many more episodes of that TV series, each one mirroring the reality of what you and the Winchesters have actually experienced in yours..._

As these thoughts have been running through your head, your fiancé has decided to try and help clear things up for his oblivious clone from 2014. "It's, uh... it's actually Cas who has the girl's name, in the universe where this guy's from. Think it was Michelle or something. This guy's name is Jensen."

Holster pauses briefly, more befuddled than before he'd asked the question, and grumbles quietly. "Still sounds girly to me."

"Y'all are a freakin'  _riot_ ," Jensen remarks with another playful laugh. "So, let's see—this dream has got me and two human Deans, a demon, Mr. Smith over there, and my beautiful fictional lover. A sweet ménage à six. If you ask me, this is "The French Mistake" as it should be."

It's beyond silly how the thought that crosses your mind now—while swooning at the fact that this studly celebrity just called you beautiful, and  _fuck_ , just winked at you again—is to admire him for having correctly pronounced 'six' in French as 'seese', and to find him even hotter now that you know he's got some brains. You're not sure what his reference to the French mistake means, but that doesn't matter much, because you just really need Jensen Motherfucking Ackles to slam you down and fuck your brains out, preferably while one of these other Deans fucks your mouth and dominates your face.

"What more could the one true star of  _Supernatural_  ask for? Heh, Jared's gonna be so jealous of my dirty subconscious when I tell him about this," Jensen chuckles to himself. "You know, gorgeous..."

 _Oh shit oh shit_  you think in silence as he strides over toward you, coming dangerously close. Dean and Holster are no doubt itching to kill him, but something—you're not sure what—is evidently stopping them.

"...I've had dreams about  _you_  plenty of times before," Jensen confesses, glorious green eyes riveting you to the floor, piercing you to the core. "Not just the actress who plays you; she's cute and all, but I've got a thing for the  _character_ , the smokin' hot hunter, the badass beauty you are. The only girl who ever captured Dean Winchester's heart."

In a gesture that's too pure and chivalrous to be dirty, yet too sexy to really be pure or chivalrous, he takes your left hand in a sensuous grasp and begins lifting it toward his luscious pink lips.

The demon's voice breaks through the silence that had fallen over the past few seconds. "Oh, shit—I only just noticed..." he says, apparently not afraid to speak, not even caring if the two human versions of him stab or shoot as they had promised, or else knowing that they won't really follow through with it. He has been staring at your hand, which is poised in midair as Jensen stops mid-movement; the dark demonic gaze then raises to address your fiancé. "...you put a ring on it."

"Damn straight I did," Dean affirms, suddenly breaking free from whatever may have prevented him from attacking Jensen earlier. He roughly shoves the actor out of the way as he shifts position to stand directly in front of you, swiftly stowing the knife back in his pocket so that he can set both hands firmly on your shoulders, dark emerald eyes burning into yours. "And now, Y/N, before any of these other versions of me try to touch you again—whatever the hell is happening—even if it means getting Michael back in me... we're gonna bring this to an end."

You melt beneath his gaze, mesmerized as always by the otherworldly beauty of his face. As hot as you are for all five men in the room, the look in your fiancé's eyes reminds you now what you've never forgotten, deep down: that you're only in love with him.  _The one true Dean Winchester. The only man who ever captured your heart._

The magic pearl is still clutched tight within one of your fists. Part of you still wants  _this_ , everything that is happening, whatever it is—but you know that the right thing to do is to crush it to pieces, reverse the effects of your wish... 

"You know—I get it, Y/N," Dean says, lowering his gaze, voice cracking in a way that's beyond heartbreaking. "I get that just one of me isn't enough, and I'm sorry, but baby, this..."

" _Dean_..." you breathe his name in this moment as if it's all your lips were ever made to say. And it  _is_ —you love him, only him, so much more than any words could ever convey.

Yes, you desire this; desire  _more_ , because you are a filthy fucking whore. But only ever for Dean Winchester. It is the honest truth that, ever since you first laid eyes on his perfection, you had never again felt even just the slightest physical or sexual attraction to any other man. You've told him so, countless times, but each time you could tell that he thought you were just trying to flatter him. Dean is far too modest to ever accept or even acknowledge how flawless he is. He could never understand the depth of your love. How no matter what your dirty fantasies may be, they all revolve completely around him, around the urge to love him more than humanly possible—he could never understand how this is all happening not because you think he is inadequate. That couldn't be farther from the truth. For you, the truth has always been the opposite: that  _you_  aren't enough. That no matter how hard, how deep, how bad you loved the one Dean that you had, still there was always part of you that felt the need to give more love, more of yourself than you could ever have. 

Apparently, some part of you believes that in the presence of more versions of him all at once... you can do just that.

Yeah, it's the dumbest thought you've ever fucking had. But it's all coming from the dirty slut in your subconscious. It's all her fault, and of course she is an utter dumbass, so you shouldn't feel too bad. That's what you tell yourself. At bottom, everything that's happening is rooted in your love for Dean. He'll never understand this. Never really understand this part of you. But you know it nonetheless. Every part of you knows it's true.

With one silent gaze, one hand upon the side of his beloved face, you try to tell Dean all he needs to hear. Without the blur of words, you hope the truth will ring out pure and clear.  _I love you. Always you, only you._

The demon is the one who breaks the silence, as he often loves to do. "You two little lovedoves are so fucking cute," he mockingly coos. "Why don't you tell us all what happened, princess? Let me guess—you made some kind of magic wish? Made a big mess of it? 'Cause you’re a dirty-minded bitch?"

Before you or anyone else can answer him, another voice cuts in. "Well, isn't that a lucky guess."

All heads turn in unison toward the far end of the room.

Your heart sinks on the instant. You should've known that  _he_  would be here. That your inner whore couldn't escape him.

"Good to see you, 'princess'," the archangel says, luminous blue gaze blazing into yours. He's never called you that before, but he seems to enjoy repeating the demon's recent address. "And so many of my perfect vessel. So many of...  _us_ , Dean."

He's even more terrifying now as the blue light in his eyes fades out, giving way to crystalline green. That's when he threatens to claim control over not only your lover's body, but also his identity, his mind and heart and soul.

As he takes a few steps across the room, you cling more closely onto your beloved, your betrothed, your one and only Dean. You love him  _so_  damn much, and now more than ever, you need him to know.

This glowy-eyed, feather-assed son of a bitch isn't about to make that easy on you, though.

"Her... and you, so many you... and me," he purrs wickedly, the theatrical curve of his brows as they rise, the shallow shadow of a pretty smile that doesn't reach his eyes, the altogether cold-blooded expression of amusement on his stolen face evincing just how evil he is and will always be. 

And you've never hated yourself more than in this moment, because  _fuck_ , nothing about this should be sexy.

But this devilish archangel sure as hell is. To you, at least. And as long as he's wearing his perfect vessel, the perfect skin of your beloved Dean, he always will be. 

And he  _knows_  it, looking straight into the slut inside you with the words he utters next, so savagely and sinfully, so dark and damned and dirty. "It's a party!"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying this and excited for the smut that's coming up :D
> 
> If so, please do let me know in kudos and comments!! Love y'all <3


	5. Bad Habit

 

The true Dean looks as if he has forgotten how to breathe. 

He stares in hateful horror at the archangel before him for a second, then glares furiously at you. "Wait, you... you want  _him_  here too?"

You know better than to try to answer that.

"What the  _hell_ , Y/N!" Dean rasps, rightly taking your silence as a yes, words spewing off of his lips in a stammering mess. "You know he—he's the reason we... and for fuck's sake, I mean—he's not even  _me_!"

Jensen clears his throat then, gesturing at himself and Mr. Smith, snickering playfully. "Neither are we..."

"Though we all may as well be," Michael reckons, sauntering slowly across the room. "Same pretty face. Same beautiful body. Isn't it, baby?"

"You don't get to call her that," your fiancé snaps.

Then out of the blue—from where he has been sitting at the table at the center of the room, stunned into silence for the past several mind-boggling minutes—Mr. Smith stands to his feet and speaks up. "You're not the boss of us."

Dean ends up lashing out at the corporate douche now, unleashing all his pent up anger. "Oh, and you are? 'Cause you're all high up on some kiss-ass corporate ladder? Well, you can kiss  _my_  ass, suspenders," he snarls, emerald eyes wide and dark. "Shove off in your tree-hugging car and listen to some NP-fucking-R. You don't even know who she is."

"Hmm, well..." the demon chimes in with a resonant hum and a ravishing chuckle, "we all know she's a kinky little bitch."

Your fiancé turns toward him and whips out his blade again. "Listen, you unholy motherfucking sack of  _shit_ —"

"Shut your filthy mouth and stuff that little stick back in your pocket, Dean," the demon orders calmly. "Let's try to play nice, shall we? Unless... well, unless princess brought us all here to play naughty."

"Of course she did. Like I said—it's a party," Michael cuts in, striding toward you, eyes briefly flashing blue as he comes ever closer. "And our little whore... I'm pretty sure... she likes to party  _hard_  and  _dirty_."

Oh, the demon and the angel  _know_ how bad you want this, know that every word they're saying is straight from your darkest fantasies. The whore inside of you screams  _yes please_ , burning with the urge to drop down to your knees, to be brutalized in every way by both of them, by all six forms of Dean... but you have to fight against that desperate need. Your one true love is all that matters, and in this twisted universe, he's pretty damn unhappy. Downright pissed. You have to undo what has happened; you have to fix this.

It occurs to you in this instant, as you watch him boiling over with rage so intense that you can practically see the hot air huffing out of his nose, that he is more than capable of fixing it himself, all on his own. Grabbing the pearl from your fist and crushing it under his foot, smashing the puny yet powerful thing into pieces. Reversing this curse of a blessing, this big steaming shitshow of a magic wish. He could've done just that at any given moment, in all the time since this cosmic accident happened— _so why hasn't he, then...?_

You don't have much time to reflect on that; the true Dean is still busy fuming at everyone else in the room.

His knuckles turn white around the hilt of his knife as he turns to face Michael. "You call her a whore one more time and I'll—"

"What? Kill me?" the archangel interrupts, clearly unruffled. "Don't waste your alcoholic breath on empty threats, Dean."

With each step as he approaches you, the ice-blue light in his gaze fades, returning to your fiancé's familiar bright green.

"You couldn't damage this fine vessel of mine even if you tried. And besides..." Michael says as that dangerously gorgeous gaze fixates on yours, deflowering your soul with his dominant eyes, "...dirty talk gets this slut soaking wet. Just the way we all like."

The demon speaks next, luscious lips twisting into a terrifying smile. "Yeah, wet as fuck. For all of us," he says, eyes flashing black as night for a split second. "So I think... I think we all get to call her whatever we want." 

He slithers toward you, well aware that he's driving you drunk on his maddeningly manly scent.

And now he's near enough to whisper filthy words into your ear, just loud enough for everyone to hear. "Ain't that right. You desperate fucking cunt."

"Okay, that—that's  _enough_ ," your furious fiancé grunts, and suddenly you feel his harsh grip on your right wrist, swiftly prying the pearl from your fist, casting it down to the floor and stomping down  _hard_  on it...

Time stands still and silent. Though the tiny sphere may be immensely powerful, it's not exactly made of durable material. It definitely should have been smashed to dust on the instant. 

But it isn't. As Dean's foot comes off of the floor, his face contorts into a wince, his body hunched over a bit as his breath releases in a curse of a hiss. "... _shit_."

All gazes fall to the ground. From the spot where his boot had just tread, the mystical pearl sits, pristine and unscathed as if nothing had happened.

"Well, look at that," the archangel scoffs, lips curling up into a savage, silent laugh. "Seems our noble knight in shining armor had a... princess and the pea moment."

In the short pause that follows, Holster glowers at him in bemusement. "Did the host of fucking heaven just—just make a fairytale reference? Seriously?"

"Oh, don't act so surprised, 2014 Dean. Michael's got a direct line into your mind," Jensen pipes up, tapping his own temple, fingers of his other hand toying with the leather belt slung over his shoulders nonchalantly. "Your cheesy sense of humor, all your memories. Remember "Bedtime Stories"? Classic. Season three—"

"This has  _got_ —to fucking— _stop_..." your fiancé grumbles as he starts attacking the pearl again, relentlessly trying to trample the thing.

"Whoa, careful there, Anger Management," Mr. Smith cuts in, having crossed the room now to join the rest of you, no longer wearing the office headset on his ear. He's evidently resentful toward Dean, bitter about how the guy had recently insulted every aspect of his professional apple-pie lifestyle. "You really gonna take out all your issues on a pearl?"

"Yeah, that seems pretty damn irrational and immature even for Dean Fucking Winchester," the demon taunts. "You'll just embarrass all of us if you, uh, sprain your ankle on a piece of jewelry. Start crying like a baby girl."

Jensen lets out another of his signature Ackles chuckles. "Oh, that's much more than just some pearl."

"That's right," Michael concurs, eyes flaring blue again for a second, aglow with superhuman knowledge of the object's power. "It's the mother of this godforsaken world."

The true Dean scowls, suddenly reaching into his 2014 clone's thigh holster to snag one of his guns. He speaks over Holster's attempts to protest, addressing the archangel. "Oh, I'll tell you something about your mother—"

Michael watches in amusement as the two human versions of Dean wrestle each other like squabbling toddlers, struggling for control of the handgun. He speaks with all the calm and confidence of the supreme being he is, the host of fucking heaven. "You should know I don't have one."

_Ugh_ , you hate how he looks and sounds so fucking  _hot_  in this moment. Though, if you're honest with yourself, he's never not.

Just as you can feel the wet heat in your crotch intensifying at the thought—even more so as the angel locks his eyes on yours, slaying you to pieces with something as simple as eye contact—you gasp, suddenly feeling something even hotter at your back.

While his human incarnations are fighting over a weapon, the fight fully occupying your fiancé's attention, the demon has taken the chance to sneak up from behind and make his move on you. He snakes one of his arms around your waist, the other hand sliding over your shoulder to cradle your face, grinding his hips against your ass, and...  _fuck_ , even through the fabric of his jeans and your own, you can feel every inch of exactly what he wants you to: the massive bulge of his monster cock, pressing up firm and hard into your crack.

"Mmm. Bet you missed this big demon dick," he growls as his teeth graze the skin of your neck, a bite that never fails to scratch your deepest itch. "Didn't you, bitch."

The only answer you can manage right now is a porn-worthy moan from the depths of your throat. In recent years, you had tried really hard to forget the impossibly hot fact that Dean's cock was always just...  _bigger_  and  _harder_  and  _stronger_  and  _badder_ , in all the best ways, back when he'd been a demon. Something about the unholy blood pumping through his veins had gone straight to his dick, apparently, and made it even more ridiculously epic. And though Dean's human cock is literally  _perfect_ —every inch of it delicious, the most stunning shade of pink, the majestic length and mighty girth structured in flawless proportions, always fitting right inside your cunt like it was fucking made for it, just as you know it was... well, if ever there was such a thing as one-upping perfection, then that was what happened when Dean was a demon.

As a human, the love of your life always fit perfectly inside, filling up your every hole, hitting every damn spot in your body and mind, heart and soul... But as a demon? Well, then he just ripped them all ruthlessly open.

And you'd realized, during all the times that he'd fucked you with brutal black eyes, that the whore in you hungered for that kind of sex more than anything. In the years since he'd been healed, you had tried to forget, to pretend that you didn't.

But here, now, the demon behind you is sure as hell not gonna let you pretend.

And the angel before you, sure as heaven, would get off on watching.

These thoughts have all run through your head in a split second, during which your fiancé has picked up on what his demonic self is doing, catching a glimpse in his peripheral vision. Or maybe he was just set off by the whorish sound that you had made, a sound that he knows all too well. The type of desperate, dirty moan that you'd only ever let out back when he'd been a demon, back when he'd been able to ravage you with all the fire of hell.

It's more than your poor fiancé can stand—the fury that ignites gives him the push of strength to finally yank the gun from Holster's hands.

He aims it straight at the pearl, and...

_Click._ Followed by unexpected silence.

"What the fuck," he mutters, pulling the trigger again and again. Nothing. He glares up at Holster. "Did you know this thing was—"

"Give me that," Holster demands, grabbing it from Dean's hands, attempting a few shots himself, then checking inside it for bullets. "This... this is bullshit. I'm always loaded."

"Now, I know it's tempting to make this a metaphor about your penis—that is,  _our_  penis," the archangel says as he watches Holster shove the gun back in its slot, then start fumbling with the others. "Or... penises, or whatever. Depending on how you see it."

_God_ , you think to yourself,  _the cold tone in which he delivers his holier-than-thou, tongue-in-cheek sense of humor is so goddamn hot it's ridiculous._ You wonder for a shameless second if he can flip a switch to make blue light glow from his dick.

"But there's no need to get so defensive about these missing bullets," Michael professes. "I can assure you—that pearl would still be indestructible, even if your weapons were fully loaded."

Well, one thing that you're certain is fully fucking loaded is the demonic dick that's still smashed up against you, growing stiffer by the second. Dean has briefly stepped off toward another part of the room in search of spare bullets or a functioning gun or something, so he's not around to stop the demon from grabbing one of your tits as he continues assaulting your neck with the dark magic of his teeth and tongue and lips.

"What the hell is it with this pearl?" Mr. Smith asks, suspenders looking just as tightly strung as his nerves, as he stares beneath furrowed brows at the angel. "The so-called, um... mother of the world?"

"Mother of  _this_ world," the archangel corrects him. "A version of reality that is built entirely upon one wish. It's—"

"It isn't supposed to be indestructible, though," Jensen chimes in. "That's a curveball I didn't see coming. Supposedly you can just crush the thing—"

"Don't interrupt me, you scruffy, small-screen, superhero wannabe," Michael chides. "You think you matter just because your babyfaced self was a soap star who once scored a daytime Emmy? You will die without ever landing the role of Batman that you've wanted so badly. Last I checked, you aren't even listed first on  _Supernatural_ 'scast. And that's a precious lie Hollywood tells that Marvel offered you a big-time role, some time ago, and you supposedly just... passed."

Jensen blinks a couple of times. You can tell that he would be offended, if only he didn't think that all of this was taking place in his own sleeping mind.

His blank stare soon gives way to a lighthearted smile. "Dude, that's  _gold_. I should start taking tips from my subconscious for next time I play this Michael role..."

Meanwhile, one of the demon's hands has begun wandering down toward your pants.

Holster, having finished checking all of his empty guns, is the first to finally pay attention to what's happening. "Is no one gonna comment on the fact that Y/N is about to have a fucking orgasm?"

"What the—" Dean exclaims as he immediately stops his search for weapons, rushing over. "I thought I could count on you to keep her away from him. For fuck's sake, Holster..."

Some part of you stupidly smiles at the fact that your fiancé has started calling his 2014 self by the same name that you've given him in your mind. You two really are soulmates, you realize, in spite of... everything that has happened...  _and everything that just might be about to happen..._

"Get the hell away from her," Dean orders, and you can feel him approaching the demon from behind, grabbing him by the shoulders.

The demon just laughs, the rumble of it in his chest vibrating viciously against your back. "Oh, that's hilarious. You honestly think you can make me do anything? Gonna whip out that cute little knife again?"

"I'm getting tired of this circus," Michael sighs. "After all,  _I'm_  the one who can make all of you do anything I want. Just... like... this."

You watch in rapture as he lifts his right hand, the faint smile on his face radiating raw power, and imperiously snaps his fingers.

On the instant, five bodies sink to the ground, all five forms of Dean brought to their knees, cringing and covering their ears as if to shield them from some deafening sound.

You don't hear or feel a thing, though. Dumbfounded, you gape at the angel, who wastes no time explaining himself.

"I'm sure you must be wondering, princess, why I just spared you from these... excruciating effects," he says, approaching and placing a forefinger beneath your chin, propping your face up to look at him. "It's because I knew I wouldn't have to cause pain to my pretty little pet. At least... not yet." 

His gentle touch is already electrifying your every nerve ending, ripping you in half and yet somehow making you whole. 

"No need for that," Michael murmurs, sliding his hand down to encircle your throat, leering darkly at the sound of your sharp, pleasured gasp. "You are already mine to control."

_God_ , you need him to fuck you up, hard and rough,  _now_ —but he won't. He knows that you want it. But what you want more is to be teased and tempted and tortured. It's twisted, but that's what you are, more so right now than ever. A sick, twisted whore.

"Now, all you inferior scum," the angel addresses the five other versions of him, letting go of your neck and surveying the room. "I am going to release my hold. Because all six of us have roles to play in this world. But know that, should you ever displease me again, I will not hesitate to bring you to your knees once more with all the wrath of heaven."

The five other Deans choke and gasp as the archangel's hold is released, staggering as they stand to their feet.

"I suppose you should know that I cannot kill you, though," Michael goes on. "No matter how fiercely I may want to. I am by far the most powerful being in this universe, but it is not mine. It is hers."

Your brows crease. The angel is perplexing you, and everyone else in the room, more and more with each word.

"Are you all truly as brainless as you look? Comprehension still escapes you, I see," he sneers down at all of you scornfully. "The pearl can never be destroyed unless Y/N wants it to be. She has no wish for that, just as she would never wish death upon any of us. Nothing contrary to her desires can ever transpire in this... wishfully crafted reality."

Jensen clears his throat and speaks up again. Of all the others, he's the least afraid of Michael's wrath, given that he still thinks this is a dream. "But... in "Lebanon" that—that wasn't how it worked, for Dean..."

"If you are referring to some episode of your low-budget television show in which Dean, rather than his girl, wields the magic of the pearl," the angel replies, "then you should know that he's... a very simple-minded beast. I'm sure that he was less than thorough with the wish he made."

Then Michael turns toward you again, raising one of his dominant hands to caress your face.

"Whereas Y/N..." he says, hypnotizing you with the arctic heat of his icy blue gaze, "this little slut surely knows better than that. No doubt she covered every base, made a wish complex enough to satisfy all that she craves. To ensure that nothing would fall out of place."

It seems to make sense, when he says it... but it can't. You  _hadn't_ —you hadn't made a wish like that. Your eyes flash toward your beloved fiancé, in this moment. You need him to know that you didn't come up with this wish. That all you had wished was for Michael to be out of his head.  _Honestly—that was it..._

Dean reads your eyes, reading your mind, and you love him more than ever for it. "You're a shit-eating liar, you know that?" he rasps at Michael, taking a few deliberate steps toward the angel. "I  _know_  Y/N. Better than you, better than anyone. Maybe—maybe there's some part of her that wants this, yes, but she would  _never_  waste such precious magic on purpose, by making some... some 'complex' sex-obsessed wish."

The archangel taps his tongue on the roof of his mouth in a patronizing  _tsk-tsk_. "Oh, Dean. You and your insufferable habit of denial. Your impulse to suppress your subconscious, to smother the truth for as long as you possibly can because, you know—that's always served you well," he mocks wickedly, looking and sounding more devil than angel. "Your ladylove shares that bad habit, in case you couldn't tell. It's part of why you two are made for each other. And it's why you don't know her any better than she knows herself."

_Ugh_. Michael is still hot as fuck, and he's probably right about all of the shit he just said, but in spite of that—or more likely because of it—he is starting to really piss you off.

"This is  _her_  world. Her wish come true," he states. "Everything that's happening... is because this filthy whore fucking  _wants_  it to. Truly and deeply, more than anything else. Don’t you."

His gaze is riveted on your face again, flaring that bright blinding blue. At first it mesmerizes you, but then... but then you are filled with the urge to speak. Michael is right, but he is wrong. This  _is_  what you want. But it's not  _all_  you want. To get out of this, first you'll have to accept what has brought you here, and just how to escape it. The only way out… is through. That much of what the angel said is true. You know now: you have to give into this, just a little bit. To be strong—for yourself, and more importantly, for Dean—you have to let yourself be weak.

You heave a sigh, cross your arms over your chest in some useless impulse of sass and self-defense, and finally speak.

"Look, I’m not gonna screw over the whole damn world order, okay?" you say. "I don't want this version of reality to last for too long. So it won't. I just want to get fucked by all of you in every hole."

A short but heavy silence follows.

Holster clears his throat. "In case you didn't notice, beautiful..." he says, gesturing at all six incarnations of himself, "you don't even have this many holes."

The demon chimes in. "Oh, we can get creative. Or cut new ones. If she wants."

The true Dean isn't on board with your plan yet, and he has really had enough of all this shit. "God, just fucking  _stop_!"

"God's not here right now," the archangel declares. "There are no rules. Not in this world. Just dreams coming true. Her darkest, dirtiest, deepest desires."

His gaze is green again, yet so bright and dark at once that it is setting you on fire, as it drives you off the rails.

He loves watching what he does to you. _And why shouldn't he, when he does it so damn well._  "So why don't you tell us all, sweet baby girl," he purrs. "In deliciously... exquisitely... explicit detail."

_Oh holy fuck._ You gulp, already knowing that the next words from his mouth are gonna cut straight to your cunt.

He knows it, too. Of course he does. "What do you want?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments!! <3
> 
> You know the drill — please keep them coming and I'll keep Dean coming ;)


	6. Confessed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo before the start of all the dirty smut with six versions of Dean, this chapter is another one-on-one scene (with some sex but mostly fluff and stuff). Especially in light of certain comments that I've gotten, I do feel that it's important to establish how the true Dean is impacted and involved in all of this. This chapter may raise more questions than answers — that's intentional, and all will become clearer by the end, promise :)
> 
> As a light warning, toward the end there are some references to kinky sex, but no explicit details or actual depictions of it happening yet. Mostly just vague, brief descriptions of stuff that took place in the past — pretty general, nothing too specific. But I'll plan to continue to warn about kinks in the notes at the top of each smutty chapter coming up!

__

 

_What do you want._

You pause and bite your tongue.  _You want... a lot of things. Too many things._ But above all, more than anything, since the blessed day you'd first laid eyes on the most heartbreakingly perfect creature you had ever seen, even more so inside than out— _your one true Dean_... you've always wanted only him.

Clarity strikes now, somehow. Sure, there are certain... other desires that you have, but everything is rooted in your love for this one man. All of a sudden now, you have a sense of what this wish really involves, and how it's gonna end. You don't know if Dean could ever understand. But you  _need_ him to. Need him to have faith in your love, to believe you, as much as he can. You would never wish for something like this, if you knew he was truly against it.

And as far as anyone can tell, he is. Yet on some level, you're pretty certain...  _he isn't_. Some part of him wants this. 

Yes, he's furious, anger and pain boiling over inside him, bubbling to the surface. But Dean also has a subconscious. A deep, dangerous underside of his mind, which he has always tried his damnedest to suppress. And once in a great while, in all the precious years you've been with him, he would let you in, give you a glimpse. You've always loved him even more in those moments. No matter how much he hates himself, you've never loved him any less. And you'll sure as hell never love anyone else.

Your gaze passes over all the other versions of Dean and then lingers intently on him. As if he and you are the only two souls in this room.

"Dean," you breathe his name and clasp his hand, firmly yet gently. "Do you trust me?"

His lips tremble and part, his open mouth a window to his tortured soul and dark, self-loathing heart. Years ago, you had made it your mission in life to heal Dean Winchester from a lifetime of hurt. Loving him is what you live for, and there's so much pain and damage that you've cured—but then sometimes you'd dish it out, of course, although never on purpose. Because that's how love works.

But you don't want it to work that way; you don't want him to hurt. Not in this universe. This world, this fantasy that you've magically wished into existence with the pearl... deep down, it's all about  _his_ desires,  _his_  happiness,  _his_ pleasure. Which have always been the essence and the core of yours.

"I think I know how all this ends," you say in response to his silence. "Michael is right; I... my subconscious must have made a sort of... complicated wish. And this is just one part of it."

That clearly doesn't help him comprehend what you are saying. Not one bit.

You crack a fragile smile and bite your lip. "I can finally understand my subconscious, now that I'm done denying and suppressing it, I guess," you muse out loud, one of your hands lifting toward his face, sliding across his freckles in a sweet, heartfelt caress. "You should try it sometime, babe."

The demon butts in then. Though he's no longer touching you as he had been moments ago, still he is near, and his devilish voice slithers straight in your ear. "Oh, you two..."

 _Ugh_ —your inner slut may be obsessed with this ravishing demon, but right now you really just wish he'd shut up for a second.

He does, then. Without you even saying anything. Which you should've expected, because in this reality, your wish is his command. Though your sexual instinct is to submit to him and every other form of Dean—which, no doubt, is bound to happen eventually—in the most important sense here in this universe,  _your_  role is the most dominant.

Dean looks perplexed, as to why the demon and all his other clones in the room have been standing still, staying silent. But he doesn't dwell on that for very long. Responds to what you had just said. "You... you know how this ends?" he murmurs, red warmth rising to his cheeks beneath the soft touch of your palm. "Tell me, then. I  _want_ to just trust you, Y/N—believe me, I do..."

"I get it, Dean. Right now it must be pretty hard to," you acknowledge with a sigh, another fragile smile. "So yeah. I'll tell you." 

You turn your head to look at all the other Deans assembled in the room again.

"Just not in front of them."

 

***************

 

"Oh."

That's all he says, at first, after you've told him everything you know. How this is all going to end, and what's bound to go down before then, and  _why_  all this is destined to happen.

You two have stepped away into your bedroom, finally together alone, sitting on the edge of the bed that you've shared for so long—at least until recently, when the archangel possessed him. It feels like home, being here with him again. Safe and warm.  _Or more than warm; it's kind of... hot._ Even though you're just talking, and both fully clothed. That's what Dean always does to you, you suppose. Whether he intends to or not.

You squeeze your hand around his shoulder in a soft gesture of comfort, all his muscles tight and tense. "So does all of that... make sense?"

He pauses, green eyes blinking into empty distance. "Um... yeah. I guess."

"Dean," you address him in earnest, "if you don't want this, just—"

"No," he says, and at the word you hold your breath, releasing it upon what he says next. "I mean... I mean yes. I'm in."

Your gaze traces his face, obsessed with every flawless inch of it. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm," he hums, emerald eyes on you now, no longer so distant. He really is present with you, in this world. In this instant. "I do trust you, Y/N."

You want to say something, but right now you're just too lost in your love for him.

His full lips lift into a faint little smile. "I guess your subconscious knows mine pretty well. I can try to deny it, to fight it, and some part of me sure as hell will, but—but I can't keep hiding from myself," he confesses, the unwept tears behind his eyes expressing that he also doesn't want to hide from you. "I get what you're saying, and I... I want this, too. I really do."

You can feel yourself blush like a schoolgirl in front of your lifelong crush. He's even more perfect when he dares to be honest, and it always makes you swoon.  _Damn,_ _Dean Winchester really is too beautiful to be true._

Mirroring the smile on his sweet face, you let yourself drown in the depths of his evergreen gaze, adoration consuming you through and through. "God, I love you."

He grumbles and pouts, and it's painfully cute. "Great—so now you're gonna make me jealous of Chuck, too...?"

"Oh, shut up," you laugh, leaning closer to him till your limbs start entwining in seamless sync, the force of gravity that's always there between your bodies, and your hearts, stronger than anything, pulling you straight into his lap. 

His big arms wrap around your back, holding you firm and steady as an anchor as your forearms brace against his sculpted shoulders, your hands cradled behind his neck to pull him closer, unable to decide between the impulse to reach up and run your fingers through his hair or to reach down and rip his damn shirt off, to touch him all over...

You settle on neither. Your hands move with a will of their own, one sliding up to cup his cheek, the other down to press your palm against his chest, the purest heart you've ever known, to feel the sacred heat of every beat.

And you love him more than ever now, the way his heartbeat hastens at your touch. "Dean—my one true Dean Winchester—I love you  _so_  fucking much," you whisper, wishing in vain that the words could convey everything you mean. They can't, of course; some wishes can't be realized even in this universe.  _If only he knew._ "Always you. Only you."

Dean meets your gaze and takes the words in deep. But he's still in the mood to be snarky, apparently.  _And damn him, it's still super fucking cute._  "Yeah, sure," he mutters, gaze lowered. "I'll believe you once all this is over."

He can pretend to doubt you all he wants. But you know better. Somehow you just know that, deep down, he believes you. You smile as you shift position, arms winding around him to bring you even closer together. "Baby, you already do."

Before he can say anything, you start shifting position even... further...

A husky growl escapes his throat—quiet and low, but it's a sound you recognize too well, the hottest sound you know. The sound he makes when he starts getting hard. "Whatcha doin' there, sweetheart?"

Straddling his thighs as your fingers work his jeans, you flash a flirty smile and bite your lip. "Tried telling you how much I love you. Now I'm showing it. The lesser Deans can wait another minute."

His eyes shine especially bright then; oh, he's digging that 'lesser' description.  _It's the little things._ His broad chest resonates with a light, raspy laugh. "You, uh—don't have to do that..."

"Of course I don't have to. I  _want_ to," you sigh as you undo his belt and his fly, hands sliding sensuously across the denim, set to worship what's within, taking your sweet time with each button. "Some part of me wants all of them, but all of me wants you. More than anything or anyone. Dean, I need you to know that's true." 

His lips quiver in silence, save for the sound of his breathing as it quickens, deep green gaze fixated on your face.  _God, he is so fucking gorgeous like this. He is perfect._  And you know he thinks the same of you, which gets you every time, and sometimes it feels so good, so right, you almost dare to think that you deserve it.  _As if_. You know no one could ever be worthy of Dean. But for reasons that you'll never fathom, that fact doesn't stop him from loving you with all his heart nonetheless. You trust and believe him. You know that his heart beats for you, no one else, and you'll try all your life not to care that it doesn't make sense.

A sigh of bliss slips from your lips then, as one of his sturdy hands moves from your back toward your chest. Not just to grope your breast—to feel the pounding heart to which his palm is pressed.

You place your own hand over his, not needing any words to make this promise. But you know he wants to hear it. Words may fall short of their meaning, but still, you have to believe they're worth something. "No matter what happens out there, know that the love in here is pure," you assure him, absorbing the force of your heartbeat together. "And it's all yours. I'm all yours. In this world and in any other. Forever."

Dean's palm shifts as he reaches to tenderly cradle your wrist, lifting your hand toward his smiling lips. "Right back atcha," he murmurs through a kiss on the knuckle of your ring finger, just above the sparkling diamond there. "Mrs. Winchester."

"Mmm," you purr, your other hand gently massaging the bulge in his jeans as it grows ever larger. "Love the sound of that, though maybe just a little premature..."

Your fiancé drops another kiss on your ring finger, eyes on yours, the touch of his lips and the depth of his gaze getting you soaking wet. "No it isn't. You know—in my heart, in my head... I married you the moment we first met."

 _Ugh, how much more perfect can he even get_ , you think to yourself as your hand in his lap wanders into his pants, under his boxer briefs, licking your lip as your palm finally hits the velvety heat of his dick. "Yeah? How'd you already know I wanted it?"

His huge cock throbs and twitches, and his heavy breathing catches in a soft hiss as he lavishes your knuckle with another kiss. "The same way I know now. Just had faith, I guess. Never had much in anything else. But with you, somehow... I always do." 

You slowly pull your left hand off of his lips to frame his face with it, leaning in close with your forehead pressed to his.  _Seriously, he is too beautiful to be true._  

So are the words he utters next. "I do trust you, Y/N. I love you."

You sigh as his head tilts to claim a kiss, lips melting into yours, drinking in the truth of your words. "Love you more."

An impossibly erotic sound rumbles from in his throat, something between a snarl and a purr. "Always makin' it a goddamn competition, huh? Think I might have to stuff that cocky mouth of yours..."

 _Fuck, yes—he's going there_. The other Deans are gonna wonder what's taking so long, for sure, but you can't be bothered to care. Moaning with desire, you've already sunk to kneel down on the floor, between his jean-clad legs, eyes wide and needy as he forcefully yet sweetly grips your head, dominant fingers twining in your hair. His dominance is everything you want.

Especially because you know: he wants this just as much. Or maybe even more.

A dark smirk works its way across Dean's luscious lips as he whips out his rock hard dick. In this moment, exuding pure power, he looks stronger than any archangel or demon, any creature to ever exist.  _So fucking perfect._  And he knows it.

Yeah, he knows that he is everything you love and want and need. Your one true Dean. Says the words knowing damn well that this is everything you live for. "Suck it, whore."

 

***************

 

 _Holy fuck_. That was the darkest, dirtiest, most degrading sex you'd ever had with Dean, let alone with anyone else. By far. Your head now rests against his heaving, sweat-slick chest as your dumbfounded mind tries to process what you just experienced. He has just fucked you like a savage, every which way, more than you even knew you could take, ravaged you rough and raw. Done and said things so filthy they made your jaw drop. And God, you never wanted it to stop. You'd never been so wet, and he had never been so hard. You honestly hadn't expected Dean to give into that kind of sex so easily, so  _eagerly_ , just yet. The fire that had blazed inside his eyes—bright and blinding as the holy light of heaven, dark and damning as the deepest ring of hell—had made him seem equal parts angel and demon, yet somehow, more than ever in those moments... so damn human. So completely  _him_. In a way that he has never really been. Not with you, at least. 

For so many years, he had been holding back the darkest part of him, the heart of him, the monster that was always lurking deep within. You know he hates the beast inside him more than anything—the fact that he had  _liked_ what he had done, so many years ago, during his time in hell. He had made that confession to Sam, and more than once to you as well. He can never forget how it felt. Slicing and dicing victims on the rack, getting off on the torment and pain that he dealt, high on his own sadistic instincts as his heart descended into darkness, his human soul fading to black.

Dean can't deny the monster in him, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try. He's made it his business to bury and smother it all his life. Fucking hates that thing. Would kill it if he could. He hunts and slaughters monsters for a living, but he should know as well as you do: not all monsters deserve to be killed. Some deserve to be set free, to breathe, to live. As long as they can control their vicious strength in the right ways, so as not to cause death or pain, not to hurt anyone.

_Well, at least not to hurt anyone against their will._

You had tried to convince Dean of this. Many times. He'd never listened. Was determined to go on denying the monster inside, even if it killed him. Even when the Mark of fucking Cain brought it out of him. Even after he was transformed into a goddamn demon, then possessed by the most brutally powerful angel in heaven, both of whom had tapped into his inner darkness, raised it to the surface. Especially then. 

You'd told him that you understood him, how the beast in him was something that he needed to suppress. At least most of the time, around everyone else. But it would be healthier for him, for everyone, if he would let it loose on occasion.  _And what better occasion... than with you. In bed._ You could help to heal so much of his self-hatred, by showing Dean how much you loved him,  _all_  of him, even that part of him. And besides—dark, twisted, intense sex with Dean was what you always dreamed about, honestly. Wanted. Needed.

 _Hell fucking no_ , he'd always said. Sure, he would indulge in some softcore kinks of yours, play rough, talk dirty. And you loved every minute. But it was never anywhere near your limits. If you even had any. With Dean, you probably never did.

In spite of everything, though, you respected his wishes. Couldn't force him to use sex as an outlet for his inner sadist, if that wasn't what he wanted. 

But then, one fine day some time ago, you had learned about Dean's dirty little secret: that in the years before he met you... he used to do exactly that.

It was all thanks to some jealous skank from his past. She somehow got a hold of your email address. Probably thought that the sex tape she'd sent would freak you out, make you want to dump his ass.

Of course, it had the exact opposite effect. Made you fall madly in love and in  _lust_  with your gorgeous Winchester all over again, more than ever before, hard and fast. Everything about this piece of hardcore homemade porn was fucking  _perfect_. Aside from the fact that you weren't the whore starring with him in it. After watching and re-watching and shamelessly getting off on this unfiltered filth more times than you could count, you had texted Dean to hurry home for a spontaneous 'movie night', waited impatiently for him to arrive, resisted his attempt at some sweet, fluffy 'honey-I'm-home' sex, and urged him to just sit his fine ass beside you on the couch.

As you should've known to expect, the rest of the night was a fucking mess. Screams and tears and violence. And not at all in the way you'd wanted. Dean threw a ton of furniture and other shit across the bunker, but he wouldn't lay a hand on you.  _Okay, yes_ , he'd admitted: he used to be into some really,  _really_  kinky shit. Even worse than what was shown in this video.  _Think sex torture dungeons_ , he'd said.  _That_ kind of shit. Every level ofBDSM, and kinks for probably ever other letter in the alphabet. And Dean was always in the role of the dom. Serviced and worshiped like some kind of god as he brutally dished out any and every form of punishment. You recall now the sound of your own desperate voice as you'd pleaded with him, desire rising like a fire in your aching cunt.  _God, Dean, that's exactly what I want—I've been begging you for so long..._

The answer was always the same:  _No fucking way_. There was nothing you could do or say. He looked at you as if you were some kind of idiot for not understanding why he couldn't do this. _Ever since I met you, I'm... I'm done. God, don't you get it, Y/N? I never loved any of them._  He needed their consent, of course, and he always had complete respect for safewords, but aside from that he didn't really give a fuck about them. That was the only way he could let all that filthy shit happen. You told him it would be even better, even safer, because of how much you loved each other. He laughed as if that was utter bullshit. Asked if you had ever done this kind of thing before. Of course you hadn't; you had only ever wanted it with him. He was the only one who made you want to be his dirty little whore. But he turned that answer against you, taking your inexperience with all of these kinks as some kind of proof that you weren't really into this. That you just thought it was what he would want, were just trying to please him or something.

You protested and protested till he finally found a way to shut you up. The look in his eyes then was unlike anything you'd ever seen, fiery and furious.  _You wanna know what my favorite kink always was? Huh? It was teaming up with other doms and gang-banging those kinky fucking cunts. Using and abusing them as our pathetic fucktoys, filthy little cocksluts, making them submit to all of us. Degrading and humiliating and fucking soaking them in all our come and—and just—fucking hell, Y/N. Do you seriously want me to become like that again? Do you think for a second that I'd ever share you with anyone? 'Cause that's the kind of man, the kind of monster that I was. So tell me, Y/N. Is that what you fucking want?_

You remember your own stupefied silence. No, of course it wasn't. Just the thought of being anybody else's slut disgusted you as much as it did him. And, for better or worse, that was how Dean won that whole fucking argument. That was the end of it. 

 _Till now. Till this._  The story of Dean's dark and kinky past isn't the entire explanation behind your complicated magic wish. But it's a damn big part of it, at the heart of it.

Dean telling you about his thing for gang-banging had been the end of your fight, that one night.  _So much time has passed since then. Everything now is so... different._  Where you now lay against his chest, both still coming down from the high of your recent incredible sex, you couldn't be happier about what he'd confessed. Back then, it had brought your dream to an end. But here with him now, in this universe... it's the fucking start of it.

The start of everything.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this and that it provided some insight into the one true Dean in this fic :) 
> 
> [*Cue random rant - no need to read unless you want*] This is how I like to envision him, and in my opinion it's consistent with canon, given that he confessed that he 'liked' torturing souls in hell, the way he gets so rough and bossy when he's angry, those quotes from him about how he'll try anything (except that he draws the line at necrophilia), etc., which I think suggests that he's open to almost any kink and probably gets off on a whole lot of them. And though he definitely does enjoy gentle sex, and may even seem more of a sub/bottom in bed, I think part of that stems from his hatred of the darkness in himself, his desire to suppress the fact that he is a natural-born dom, that his true sexual instinct is to be a violent, sadistic beast. In his heart of hearts, though, I see him as the sweetest, purest human who ever existed and a sensitive, precious softie. But I think the beast in him is always raging and does need to be released from time to time, for him to remain sane and healthy. Anyway — that's all just me :) Just got carried away rambling about my vision of Dean and how he fits into this filthy fantasy. [*End rant*]
> 
> Thank you all for your kudos and comments and please keep them coming! Much love <3


	7. Best of All Worlds

__

 

 _So this is what it feels like._ For a fantasy to be realized, a dream to come to life.  _Such sweet... complete... release._

At last, for the first time in all the years you've spent beside the man you love, the beast raging inside has been unleashed. Not because he was possessed, or transformed into something else, some other version of himself. Neither by angel nor by demon. Both of whom must still be waiting in the other room.

No—this time, just now, it was because  _he_  set it free. All Dean. Pure Dean. And it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

As both of you finally start coming down from the sex-induced daze, collapsed together in a heap on the bedroom floor where he'd just ravaged you moments before, you shift where you're resting against his chest, tilting your head to get a better view of his beloved face. He meets your gaze.  _And fuck, the raw heat radiating from those dark green eyes is sending you straight back into that daze..._

But the soft touch of his hand upon your chin saves you just then. Keeps you in place, before your sanity slips off into that senseless haze. You stay here, present in the moment, own heart beating to the rhythm of the pulse beneath his skin. Dean has always been your anchor, the ever-steady center of your world, even and especially when the very thing that's rocking it... is him.

His smile crinkles at the corners of his eyes before reaching his lips. The way it always does. " _God_ , I love you," he murmurs, cradling your face like the treasure he thinks it is, like it's the only thing he'll ever want to touch. "So fucking much."

Your own smile brightens as you turn your head a bit, to press innocent, slow little kisses all over his fingertips. "Is this where I make a dumb joke about Chuck?"

"Oh, shut up," he grumbles through a boyish, beaming laugh. "Dumb God jokes are  _my_  job. Your job is to just... just exist. Like this."

You hum through your next kiss, loving lips caressing this thumb. "Hmm. Like what?"

Dean's big shoulders lift in a little shrug. "You know. Fucking perfect."

More than ever now, somehow, you know that he means it. The love between you is so powerful and pure that you're sure you can get away with saying something fun and flirty, let the dirty side come out to play for a bit, without risking pissing him off or anything. 

You'll realize soon that even risking it was stupid. But your inner whore has been awakened to the fullest now and just couldn't resist. "Perfect, huh? Is that so... 'cause just a few minutes ago, I'm pretty sure you were calling me—what was it?" you pause for a second, as if it were something you would ever forget. "Oh, right— _a pathetic, worthless, filthy piece of shit_..."

Every muscle in his bare body beneath you suddenly goes tense. "Y/N."

You silently curse yourself out for having been dumb enough to say something like that, trying and failing to dismiss it with a breathy laugh. "Relax, babe, I'm just teasing..."

"Well,  _don't_. I'm dead serious, Y/N," he rasps, shifting to bring his body weight on top of yours in one swift motion, making you gasp with arousal even when you're well aware that sex couldn't be farther from his intention. "I know you don't want this to end, so you better not give me a reason. I won't  _ever_  do anything like that again if you're gonna doubt for a second—"

"Dean—Dean,  _stop_ ," you urge him, unable to stand another word of this. You should've known to expect him to react this way, but now that he has, you have to shut him up before he gets carried away. You're almost surprised at how well he complies, letting you speak as he falls into silence, though the rage you've ignited still burns in his eyes. "I won't. I won't doubt it. I couldn't ever doubt the way you really feel about me. No matter what the darkness in you says or does, no matter how real it may feel in the moment. Which we both know is exactly how I want it." 

His dark gaze devours your face as he bites his lip.

"I  _know_  how much you love me and I'll never doubt it. Promise," you assure him, your chest rising and falling in sync with his breathing, skin against heated skin, heartbeat pressed perfectly to his. "I trust you, Dean. It's the least I can do when you're brave enough now to trust me."

After a heavy pause, his pretty head bobs in the faintest nod. You can tell that he is still only beginning to give in. He needs more reassurance, and you understand, so that's what you'll give, in any way you can. You live to give Dean, your beloved Winchester, whatever he needs. You reassure him with words and without. With each heartfelt look of your eyes, each soft touch of your hands, every tender kiss eating away at his lingering doubts.

Some remain, of course. Especially given what's about to go down. What— _who_ —awaits in the other room.

"You can't... you can't trust  _them_ , though," Dean murmurs at one point. "Neither of us can. They're not me, you know."

"I know. You're my one and only Dean and always will be. But don't forget just how we got here, baby," you remind him with a smile. "Nothing can happen out there that I don't want. No matter how powerful they may otherwise be,  _my_  wish controls this world. It's all built on the pearl."

He nods, but a new shade of doubt starts creeping into his eyes.

"And before you wonder if you're only agreeing to all this now because I wished it that way..." you say, reading his mind, "you should know that can't be true. Because I'd  _never_  wish for any version of reality where you're not really you."

That much Dean understands, and believes, thankfully. The doubt keeps on fading with each passing moment. You can even see a glimmer of shameless, sadistic excitement in him as you go on to emphasize how perfect this whole setup is. Though you both know that your man has always wanted you all to himself, has no desire to share you with anyone else... surely some part of him, the animal inside of him, always hungered for something other than the tame one-on-one lovemaking you've so often indulged in. Something  _more_ , something closer to all the filthy kinky sex he used to have before, including his favorite kink: gang-banging whores. 

And that's exactly what you want to be for him. The whore who can fulfill his every fantasy. You talk him through that as the two of you climb back onto the bed, and as Dean leans back to let you run your hands and mouth all over his body, reverently savoring and servicing every inch of his sweat-glossed skin, the way you always love to do so desperately. "See? It's the best of both worlds. Or... all worlds. You get to share me, but not really. Only with other versions of yourself. No one else. Just this same exact body—this beautiful, perfect body that I love and worship so deeply and completely. And in this fantasy world, it won't matter what's inside. I'm not having sex with their souls. We're just using their physical vessels to live out what we've always secretly dreamed. You and I both. There may be five other guys out there, five other lesser Deans... but deep down, baby, it's all just you and me."

The growls and groans that Dean releases in these moments are so much hotter than any sounds you've ever heard from him. You know that he's turned on now by more than the sensation of your hands and tongue and lips upon his dewy skin. More than just the way your whole throat swallows down his massive, throbbing dick. He's aroused even more at the thought of what's soon bound to happen. And so are you, especially now, getting off on the feeling of him giving in. Every hunger, every desire that he and you both have been holding back. Every dark, dirty kink. Here in this universe, he can see just how much you truly want it.  _All_  of it. And watch you get broken in, so to speak, by all these other versions of him. Knowing that nothing will happen that you don't truly want. And that none of the damage will be permanent. The all-powerful archangel can heal you instantly from any kind of injury. Michael can heal just enough so that you'll still feel the sweet sting, the precious afterglow of pain and punishment upon your skin, while making sure that you're repaired, recovered to the point of being ready to take more.

Here in this world, Dean can see the full extreme. Then when you two get back to your original reality—and you  _will_  get back to it; you don't doubt that for a minute—then you'll find ways to satisfy your kinks less dangerously, just you and him, determine how far you can push the boundaries without serious injury. But in the back of his mind, he will always know how far it goes in your dark twisted fantasies, your wettest wildest dreams. Just where your limits may be. Or, more likely, the fact that with him you don't have any.

When Dean finally comes down your throat just then, it feels like fucking gallons, and you guzzle every luscious drop, and once that's done and you gaze up into his gorgeous face, you  _know_. He's ready. You both are. You're ready to go.

 

***************

 

" _Finally_ ," the demon grunts as you and Dean walk back into the room. "You know, you two were gone so long the rest of us almost got tempted to fuck each other's throats."

"Speak for yourself, demon scum," Michael huffs.

"Oh I'm sorry, Mickey Blue Eyes—guess you're too high and mighty to dream about seeing your own meatsuit kneeling down between your holy fucking thighs..."

Holster groans. "Ugh, you are  _gross_."

"Tell me something I don't know," the demon snickers, cocking his head as he turns toward you and Dean again. "Like why our little slut isn't naked. You two were obviously fucking like animals back in your room, and given that we all know what's gonna happen next... why bother putting on clothes?"

You look up briefly at your Dean; his lip quirks slightly and he gives your hand a squeeze, and that's all the go-ahead you need. Your eyes flicker across all five other Deans in the bunker as you answer that question shamelessly. "So that you can all rip them off of me."

The already high levels of testosterone in the room rise off the charts instantly—the demon's eyes blacken; the angel's flash blue; Holster's hand tightens around the gun he's holding; Mr. Smith chokes on his coffee.

The hot cup of joe that the corporate stud has fetched for himself isn't the only new thing in the room, since the time when you and your fiancé left. You and Dean both notice now—Jensen Ackles has gotten himself something else.

Dean blinks and gestures toward the thing. "Is—is that a...?"

"Hell yeah. Gotta get this all on camera," Jensen confirms, setting the tripod in the optimal position, throwing you a panty-soaking wink. "This, uh... adult content may not make it into an actual episode, but you know, in my time on the show I've dabbled in directing—"

"All right, Scorsese, put that shit away..." your fiancé begins, reverting for a moment to the version of himself that wasn't ready to let anything and everything happen. But thankfully, that only lasts a moment. "Or, actually, uh... wait. Y/N, you thinking what I'm thinking?"

You provocatively bite your lip. "That that'd be kinda hot?"

Dean nods. "Super hot."

"And that it's been too long since the last time you and I made a sex tape?" you go on. You had made a few for fun, back in the day. But naturally, not once again ever since you'd received the filthy sex tape from Dean's past sent by that jealous skank. Now years later, you both know that you owe a lot to that tape.

The sexy smirk on Dean's lips becomes darker, dirtier, even more delicious. "Damn straight. Way too long, babe."

"Enough of this foreplay," the archangel cuts in all of a sudden, standing from the seat that he has taken at the far end of the room and striding toward you. "I didn't come to watch amateurs flirt with each other all day. We all know that I was summoned here for... other reasons. Isn't that right, Y/N."

You gulp as he comes close, inhaling the angelic essence lurking beneath Dean's familiar scent.

Michael props one of his powerful forefingers under your chin. "I think you owe me an answer to that question."

He doesn't need to repeat it now, for you to know just what question he meant. But he does say it again, just then, knowing how much these words from his lips turn you on.

His eyes are Dean's beloved deep green when he speaks, though luminous blue energy seethes beneath. "What do you want?"

You're somehow sharply aware that the camera is rolling. You hold your breath for a second as Dean softly squeezes your hand again, then lets go. Relinquishing his sole hold over you so that you can surrender control to all six forms of him in the room.

And you do. And it feels  _good_ , so fucking good, to give in and to tell them all the truth. "I want..." you declare to the archangel, then to everyone else, "what you want. What all of you want. I want to be your filthy fucktoy, your pathetic plaything, your submissive slut, your worthless whore, your cock-worshiping cunt. I want all of you to degrade and dominate and destroy me, all of you at once, in every way. Make me your desperate, dirty little slave. I want it.  _Need_  it. Please. Make me your bitch."

Silence hangs low and deep upon the echo of your words. Just having made that confession in front of all these incarnations of Dean—let alone the thought of acting on it—is almost enough to bring on a full-blown orgasm, scratching your every itch. 

The archangel doesn't need words for you to know his answer; just the slightest curve of his luscious lips, a pure evil version of your fiancé's signature sexy smirk.

But the demon likes to talk; his dirty talk has always been just as big as his cock. He moves in then to answer out loud, words spilling from his devilish mouth, the truth you know your fiancé and the angel and everyone else here has known all along. "Oh, sweetheart..." he purrs, black eyes agleam as he comes closer. "You already are."

Not about to be threatened by the approaching demon, Michael then uses words and actions both to reassert his dominance, merciless hand encircling your throat, smiling wickedly as he strangles you,  _hard_. "Ready for this party to start? To see this pretty smile as I rip you apart?"

Your eyes flash toward your beloved Dean just before you let them roll in pure pleasure straight into the back of your head.

And the pleasure is even more perfect because of the look you just saw on your fiancé's face— _a look of pure sin spreading all across those flawless features, making it clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, just how completely he has given into this_... and the words he just said.

"Let's get started."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughh I am so excited to write the next chapter!! I hope you all are excited to read it, and if so, please do let me know in the comments! Always love hearing from you guys :D


	8. Damn Straight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks in this scene: dom/sub, pain/S&M, choking, biting, spitting, slapping, slut shaming, teasing to the point that it's pretty much torture, etc...
> 
> And gangbanging, obviously. There's no actual fucking yet in this scene, but there's gang-domming, so to speak ;)

__

 

 _Ohh God_... you know God isn't here, nowhere near, yet the slut in your brain keeps on screaming his name all the same. Screams of pleasure and longing for pain. It's beyond insane how much you want this, how turned on you are. The filthy freaky fun hasn't even begun and you're already seeing fucking stars.

The voice in your head may be shouting like mad, but the voice in your throat can't quite manage that. Still strangled by the angel, you gaze up into his hypnotizing eyes, the familiar flawless face of your fiancé, so beautiful in the most haunting and most horrifying way. Especially, in this moment, that damn smile of his. So angelic yet so... devilish.  _Dean's delicious mouth, framed with those perfect lips you've always loved to sweetly kiss—and lurking behind them, in the wet darkness, that sinful tongue, sliding along the ridge of pearly teeth that you now wish would tear you into pieces..._  

Those words that Michael had spoken, seconds ago, had really hit all of your spots:  _"...this pretty smile as I rip you apart..."_

The demon closes in behind you then, firm body pressed against your back, breath hot as hell upon your neck. "Hmm. This what you want, sweetheart?" he growls into the pulse point just below your jawline, husky voice blowing your mind. "This big dick deep in your tight cunt while the heavenly host takes you by the throat? Maybe you should bend over for me, baby. Let him fuck your face until you choke. Bet you'd look awful pretty in an angel-demon spit-roast..."

 _Holy fucking hell yes_ , the whore in your head desperately says...

But then you hear something else, and in this instant, it's the last word you'd expect. Dean—your true Dean—is the one who says it. "No."

_..."No"? What the actual fuck, though?_

"Ugh, come  _on_ ," Jensen groans, the frustration in his tone as intense as your own. He's standing behind the camera, huge cock straining visibly beneath his jeans as he captures all of these uncensored scenes on video. "Are you seriously gonna poop on this party? Thought you said we're getting started..."

"Oh, I said it. And I meant it," Dean declares, voice somehow more wicked right now than the angel's and demon's combined. And it's fucking  _divine_. 

Your fiancé comes toward you, from the side, as Michael's hand around your throat grips tight, just short of cutting off your air supply, all while that massive demon dick grinds up against you from behind. Drowning you in a sea of Dean, the sounds and the scents of his powerful presence, the sight stunning enough to fucking blind.  _Good God, you'd needed this so bad..._

"But if we give this little slut just what she wants, right off the bat..." Dean rasps as he leans in, every word from his luscious lips dripping with sin. "...what kind of party is that?"

 _Holy shit_ —desire and need are blazing like hellfire through every cell of your body. But you should've known: Dean's gonna make you pay for this party. Make you earn it. Every fucking minute. And because you're a sick bitch, more than a little twisted, that's exactly how you want it. To be teased, tempted, tortured like a pathetic piece of shit.  _Put through pain and punishment while you plead for the pleasure only he can give, knowing full well that you'll never deserve it..._

Though, then again, your deepest pleasure is just that: the pain and punishment you crave so bad. You are so fucked up, and you know it, and in this world you can finally fucking show it. This is what you live for. What you love. The best and most intense way to express your love for Dean, a love so pure and clean that it has to be dirty. You love him, you love  _this_ , so damn much.

And more importantly, of course— _he_  does.

Every passing moment makes it clearer just how much your one true Dean is getting off on this. The demon's mouth is still hovering near one of your ears, biting and teasing, making sure that you can hear and feel his heated, heavy breathing. From the opposite side, your fiancé's full lower lip grazes the lobe of your other ear then, as he leans even closer in, slaying you with just the sound of his voice and the touch of his skin.

This gorgeous god you love has  _never_  been so dark, so dirty, so damn dominant. "Do you think you deserve what you want?" he mercilessly taunts. "Tell us, you good-for-nothing cunt. Tell me. Do you even deserve to breathe?"

 _Fuuuck_ , you think, unable to speak until the archangel's grip loosens just enough to let a gasp of air into your lungs—his mind and your fiancé's on the same wavelength, working in perfect sync, summoning the answer from your thirsting tongue. "N-no..."

"That's what I thought," Dean scoffs, the savage snicker in his tone slithering into your ear, raw and rough. "You like me watching you get strangled by this big, strong, fucking angel? Does this get you off?"

 _Mother of God_... Michael's hold around your neck tightens again before you can give the undoubted answer to that question.

"Mmm, 'course it does," the demon grunts, one of his hands slowly sliding down toward your cunt. "Such a filthy fucking slut..."

"Don't touch her there yet," the angel orders him. "Our little pet must be so...  _so_...  _soaking_  wet. So wet it hurts, I'd bet."

 _Well, he's right. Obviously._  It feels like there's a fucking ocean in your pussy and your whole body and soul are drowning in it, lost beneath the deepest sea, in way over your head...

The archangel flashes another painfully pretty smile. Hand still cutting off your breathing all the while. That, and the words he speaks next, kill you dead. "Let's see just how much wetter she can get."

 _Fucking shit._ Your cunt basically floods on the instant. The arousal that you're feeling now is so far beyond anything you can even begin to comprehend—it's like some kind of earth-shattering orgasm that builds and builds and never fucking ends.

The demon behind you may not be big on the idea of taking directions from the host of heaven, but he sure as hell isbig— _huge_ —on teasing and torturing you. So for better or for worse, for him right now, obeying Michael's orders is the best damn thing to do. His wandering hand skips your crotch, gliding instead down your thigh; Dean and the angel continue to watch, burning you beneath the heat of their ravenous eyes.

"Ugh—yeah, she's wet as hell. Dripping down her goddamn leg..." the demon snarls into your neck, calloused hands groping at the slick that he can feel beneath your pants through the cheap fabric. "Bitch, we are gonna have so much fun making you beg.  _Fuck_."

_Oh, this is too much. And yet you know you'll never get enough..._

"Wet as hell, huh?" your fiancé repeats, whiskey-wet breath fanning across your blushing cheek. "You like this, slut? Demon feeling you up, angel choking your neck, while we feed you all this filthy fucking dirty talk? Mmm. Know you do. But we all know you'd rather be choking and feeding on some cock."

"Oh my  _God_...!" you realize that the words came out, aloud, from your wide open mouth as Michael's grip loosened again just now. Not at all able to string together a full sentence, you just let the words flow freely, wild and breathless. "Holy—fucking— _please_... Dean, please..."

"Did you just say my name, slut?" your fiancé snaps, the rasp in his voice fierce as fuck, promptly shutting you up. "You  _really_  that dumb? On your knees." 

 _Shit_ —by this point, it feels like you've surrendered complete control over your body. But the angel and the demon are in sync with your beloved human, thankfully. They shift their hands to shove you down, smirking as you sink to the ground, kneeling in utter submission beneath all three.

Dean is cupping your chin now in one of his hands, blunt nails digging into your skin brutally. The look in his glaring green eyes is sharp enough to make you bleed, and  _fuck_ , it's everything you need. It may have been a mistake to call him Dean... but it's a mistake you would happily make if your punishment will always be his smoldering hot fury.

His voice doesn't bother lifting into a question when he asks you this; it's more of a demand, the answer as imperative as it is obvious. "What the fuck do you call me."

Still dizzy with euphoria from the heavenly feeling of having fallen before all three of them, your voice slips out now in a weak, wispy whimper. "Sir..."

"That's better," Dean mutters, suddenly reaching down with his other hand too, sticking his thumbs in the sides of your mouth and holding it open wide, the smutty subjugation of the act making you moan in bliss. You know what's coming, even when it happens so damn quick. Puckering his full pink lips, he leans down over your mouth and fucking spits in it. 

You have no clue what you did to deserve such a gift, but you'll be damned if you don't savor every drop of his thick, hot, fucking delicious spit. Yet you need  _more_ , goddamnit. He pulls his thumbs out of your mouth, pushes it shut and then spits onto one of your cheeks before slapping it.  _Hard._

" _Fuck_ —" you gasp, free to speak for a second as you bask in the afterglow of the sudden blow, dazed vision spinning with stars. "Thank you, sir... thank you.  _Please_ —more..."

"What's that, slut?" he sneers, smacking the same cheek again, harder than before.

You can feel your skin already turning red for him. For all of them. You fucking love the feeling. "Please, sir—again...  _more_..."

All three of them leer down at you as you let your jaw drop open, eyes half-closed in full-on ecstasy, breathing heavy as you go on begging without words. Silently pleading with Dean for another hard smack, or another thick shot of his spit. His degrading domination is your drug, and you will  _always_  need another hit. The demon calls you what you are; they are all thinking it, but he says it. "You greedy little whore."

You hear another voice from nearby, then—so similar to these three, and yet so different. Just like each version of Dean is. " _Shit_. She really is a dirty fucking bitch..."

That's when you turn your head a bit and notice Mr. Smith. Standing just a few feet away, palming the crotch of his professional slacks, through the soft cloth of which you can easily see the huge bulge of his dick. A certain thrill burns through you at the sight, not quite like the desire that you feel for all the others here. 

You quickly realize why: this corporate douche is the only version of your lover who is essentially a stranger. The other five all  _know_  you—from firsthand experience, or in Jensen's case, from years starring in an on-screen role alongside a fictional character based on who you really are. None of the others know you as deeply and completely as your one true Dean, but they all know you well enough, to whatever degree.  _Whereas Dean Smith..._  till today, he had no clue you even existed. Of all the men assembled here, he is far and away the most clueless. Hell, not long ago he thought this whole scenario was just some virtual reality videoconference. Maybe still thinks it is.

Today, here in this wish-created universe—this is the first time Mr. Smith has ever seen you. And what he's seeing... is  _this_.

And judging from the size and stiffness of his dick, he is clearly fucking digging it. Something about this whole Mr. Smith business is so goddamn  _hot_ , you just...

Your thoughts don't stay on him for long. Barely more than a second. After all, you are still on your knees beneath three dominant versions of Dean, the most beautiful, most powerful beings you've ever seen. In a fraction of a second, you wonder about Holster— _where he is in the room, what he's doing, whether he's still wearing all those sexy weapons..._  and about Jensen— _how the shooting of this shameless porno is going, how much bigger that mouthwatering bulge in his jeans has gotten..._

But the demon's touch commands your full attention now. You watch the muscles of his forearm flex as he runs one hand through his rich, ruffled hair, while the other hand moves toward your mouth, lingering there, the tip of one of his thick fingers tracing a slow path of sin along the inner lining of your gaping open lips. "Damn straight she is," he purrs, concurring with what Mr. Smith had just called you: a dirty fucking bitch.

Yeah, they all already know it. But still—to each and every one of them in turn, and to all six at once... you cannot fucking wait to show it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked this and that you're excited for what's coming next :D
> 
> If so, please do let me know in kudos and comments!! Much love bitches <3


	9. Stop at Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii so this scene ended up being a bit more intense than I had originally intended but I just went with it *__* I really hope you guys like it!!
> 
> For those who aren't into this kind of intensity, don't worry — while pretty much every scene coming up in this fic will be kinky, in one way or another, I don't think most chapters will be to this degree. I think the next few chapters will have more of the type of gang-banging action that you guys have probably been expecting... and also will involve more than just true Dean, Michael and Deanmon, haha. I'd been planning to include the others a lot more in this scene but then Dean had other ideas :P
> 
> New kinks in this chapter: knife stuff, blood, getting killed by Dean but not really (i.e. it only happens because Dean and the reader both know that it wouldn't actually be fatal for her in this universe... if that makes it better lol. At least for me it really does! So... uh... yeah.)

 

Being down on your knees beneath multiple Deans feels even more amazing than you'd ever fucking dreamed. Yet as gorgeous as the angel and the demon standing over you may be, still somehow, here and now, you only have eyes for your one true Dean. You gaze up at him lovingly as he speaks. "Yeah.  _My_ dirty fucking bitch," he snarls darkly, echoing the words of Mr. Smith. "That's what you've always been, isn't it?"

The demon's finger is still moving slowly along your mouth's opening, tracing and teasing your trembling lips. You keep your mouth open for him, breathless and silent, bobbing your head to give Dean the achingly obvious answer, your wholehearted  _yes_.

"Of course it is. But now... now you belong to  _all_ of us," your beloved fiancé growls as he bends down, framing your chin in his dominant grip. "Just as you wished. How does it feel, bitch? Love of your life whoring you out like this?"

_Fuck—feels so good, sir... fucking heaven_ , you want to tell him. Instead a slutty groan resounds from deep inside your throat. 

Dean lets out a low, raspy laugh and drops his hand a bit to wrap it tight around your neck, calloused palm rough against your flesh, watching with pleasure as you choke. "That's it, slut. Know you've never been so wet. Know you love it when I treat you like a filthy piece of shit. That's all you'll ever be, and we all know it," he sneers, and then feeds you another thick wad of his spit, snickering as the sticky fluid drips and lingers on your tongue, all while the demon keeps on toying with your lips.  _Ugh, his dominance tastes so fucking delicious. Just like every word he says._  "Pathetic. Worthless. Your only purpose in life is to serve us."

Shaking in subjugated bliss, you watch with wide eyes as your fiancé's free hand shifts, reaching for the knife in his pocket, grasping the hilt. The sight of the silvery blade sliding out of its place sends a sharp jolt of arousal through your veins, cutting straight to your clit.  _Shit. You are so sick and twisted._

"Such a desperate fucking whore..." Dean murmurs as he brings his face closer, perfect lips hovering inches over yours. 

The demon's hands have shifted; both fists are now grabbing your head from behind, fingers tangling in your hair, firmly entwined. But you barely even notice, focused as you are on the excruciating beauty of your lover in this moment. On the heat and the scent of his liquor-laced breath, getting you beyond wet, fucking blowing your mind...

You're not sure what his knife-bearing hand is doing, but you're very much aware of his left hand rhythmically squeezing and releasing your throat, driving you mad with his powerful touch. You're even more aware of how painfully  _pretty_  he is, especially that wicked smile of his. Just like Michael's had been, yet so much prettier, so much more. So dirty and yet so pure, in a way the angel's never was. 

Dean smirks knowingly, reading your mind this whole time. "Mmm. You wanna taste this mouth you love so much?" he teases, pearly whites flashing above you, fierce and flawless. "Little slut want a kiss?"

_Ugh, God yes._ Yet again, a loud moan is the only response you can manage. Every kiss from your beloved Dean is such a fucking gift. Even just hearing those words from his divine mouth makes your pussy twitch.

Soon that twitch turns into something else, something way more intense: a soul-crushing spasm of bliss at the sight of his tongue flicking over his full lower lip, at the words he says now, and at what he does next. At the feel of his knife at your neck. The sharp edge pressing into the skin just above his fist, all the while strangling your throat in his merciless grip. "Come and get it, bitch."

_Oh shit. Oh fucking shit._  You react to those words on the instant, not even stopping to think or to blink. Powerless to prevent it from happening. The slut inside of you, the bitch that you've become, the whore you've always been for him, will stop at nothing. Not a damn thing. 

Sure, in any other universe, you would've hesitated. Would've managed to resist the twisted impulse to go through with this. Although you've known, from the moment so many years ago when you first saw that fine young Adonis, the green-eyed god destined to be your everything, that you would very literally die for him, lay down your life for even just one kiss— _and would get off on it, to be quite honest_... realistically, you would never bring about your own death just for kicks. Especially not after all the years you've spent together, knowing how damn much you mean to him. Dean loves you. So deeply and truly that your death would be his own. You'll never understand it, but you've always known. No part of him would ever enjoy seeing you die, on a sexual level or otherwise.

In this universe, though? Death is just part of the game. You and Dean both are completely safe, free to surrender to the fullest extent of all the fantasies you crave, knowing that nothing will happen unless you want it in this world, thanks to the power of the pearl. It is fucking  _insane_. In the absolute best possible way.

And that is why you do this. In this glorious universe, you both know that there is no reason to hesitate. That is why you raise your face in one swift push toward his, to close that sacred space, arching your neck up straight into his blade, feeling the fatal cut, and  _fuck_ , all of a sudden you are too far gone to even feel the pain, because the shockwaves through your brain, the fire coursing through your veins, flare up in perfect sync with the touch of his lips, the love that only he can give, the reason that you live, and there is so much more life in that kiss than any mortal body or soul could contain. So it doesn't even matter that you've let your lifeblood spill over his blade. Because this kiss, in this instant, is so explosive and exquisite, the immortal love behind it so intense and fucking infinite... that it would've killed you anyway.

You'd gone completely limp and numb, eyes falling shut in the split second right after it happened—which, of course, was when you came—but on some level you can still sense what is happening... still feel Dean's firm hand on your neck, and the demon's viselike grip around your skull, the both of them holding you up... still hear every word that all these men around you say, though you can't quite tell who says what. It probably shouldn't be possible for you to sense any of this, being basically dead and all, but, you know. Fuck possible. This is  _your_  world.  _All hail the motherfucking pearl._

"Son of a  _bitch_..."

"Um, did—did she just..."

"Holy fucking shit."

"Nothing a little holy touch can't fix."

"Go on, then. Heal our bloody little whore."

"Yeah, she's no good to us dead. We're gonna need her alive again. Ready for more."

The next thing you feel is a touch on your forehead that pours white hot energy through every cell of your body, healing your death wound completely, in less than an instant, as if the whole thing never happened. Physically, at least.  _Whereas psychologically, emotionally, sexually... that cut will never be undone. And you never want it to be._

As your eyes flutter open, you look straight past the archangel who healed you, at your one true Dean, to see that his beloved gaze is overflowing with the deepest, purest love you've ever seen. Yeah, maybe some of that is just the way his eyes reflect the love you're radiating toward him, gemstone mirrors to your own. But his love and yours are one and the same, either way. One heart, one soul. Dean had died too, along with you, seconds ago. And now you have been brought back to life, he and you both.  _Fuck, you have never felt so close. So intimately intertwined with everything he is, closing the space between your souls, until whatever boundary there ever may have been fucking explodes..._ Dean gazes down at you, reading your mind, like he does every time. He feels it too. He knows. He always knows.

It's the purest, most precious, most  _perfect_  thing, but it only lasts for a moment. And both of you want it that way. 

Because you already cannot fucking wait to get dirty again. You, and Dean, and all these other men. Every goddamn version of him.

Your eyes shift to the archangel then. "There. There's our sweet little slut," he declares with a smirk, smug and proud of his own heavenly handiwork. "So what do you lesser clones think—should I also clean up this mess, all this spilled blood? Would that be a nice touch?"

"Nah, that'd just be showing off," the demon replies, squatting down behind you on his muscular thighs, then leaning in from the side to run his long tongue in a slow, sinful line up the length of your blood-spattered neck, the slick heat of his devilish mouth sending chills down your spine. "I can clean her up just fine..."

Michael watches in disdain as the demon starts to ravenously lap up all the blood that had spilled from your veins. His angelic features twist into a scowl at the sight. "That is sickening. You black-eyed swine."

"Mmm. Don't knock it till you've tried," the demon growls against your wet, sensitive skin. "Damn, there's so much dirty  _love_  in this blood. Delicious little slut. Death tastes even better when it's such a desperate, pathetic self-sacrifice, you know that? Tastes fucking divine."

In the meantime, your fiancé's hand has moved off of your neck—on instinct, you suck in deep, gasping breaths, as his chokehold is broken for the first time since that series of sinful events leading up to your sort-of-death. You gape up at him in awestruck reverence as he brings his fist up toward your chin, bloodstained knuckles brushing your bottom lip. The stain of your desperate, pathetic, self-sacrificing love for him, all over his skin, the scarlet tint bright as salvation and dark as sin, a vivid testament to just how wholly you have given yourself over to him, everything you are and ever have been...

You can read Dean's mind without a word, but still, it sounds so fucking  _hot_  when he says it, as he starts to feed you his bloody fist. "Lick."

Without a second thought, your tongue lashes out of your wide open mouth to do his bidding, tasting your fatally heartfelt love all over him. And  _God_ , it tastes even more twisted than it looks, all iron and rust, surrender and trust, passion and lust. Off of his skin, of course, it tastes really damn good. Anything would.

The black eyes behind you watch as your fiancé smears some of the blood from his knuckles all over your lips, while that demon tongue keeps on licking your dirty throat clean. "Fuck, Dean—not bad. Look at that," he rasps, hands wandering now to take both of your tits in his ravishing grasp. He leers up at Dean as you quiver and gasp, from the mind-blowing combined effect of everything the two of them are doing. "Gotta admit... you're pretty damn demonic for a human."

Your lover doesn't dignify that with an answer. But the angel huffs out a response, still visibly disgusted by what's happening. "You say demonic as if it's a good thing."

"What'd you expect, Magic Fingers? I'm a demon," the unholy creature reminds him, snickering at his own mockery of Michael's healing touch from a few minutes ago. "Same goes for you though. Pretty damn devilish for an angel, you know."

The archangel's scowl ominously darkens. "That is... well, the lowest insult I've ever been dealt. Consider yourself blessed that I couldn't care less about the opinion of some bottom-feeding sack of scum."

"Yeah, or else what," the demon taunts, nearly done feasting on your blood, focusing now more intently on feeling you up. "You'd strike me with the wrath of heaven? Dish out some epic biblical punishment? We both know you can't hurt me unless it's what she wants. And this bitch fucking  _loves_  me. Mmm, all the things only this big demon dick can get done in her dripping wet cunt..."

The angel's lips curl up into a superior chuckle. "Oh—only the dick of a demon? Now that is quite cute. I don't suppose you've ever seen what an angel can do with his vessel's meat, have you?"

_Fuck. Fuck._ Your mind starts running wild with all kinds of filthy images, shit even more intense and freaky than the cartoon porn that Dean once introduced you to— _visions of a cock massive enough to fucking bust you into pieces from within, erupting with all the violent force of a volcano or something, maybe even glowing blue..._

"Enough of this blood kink," Michael determines, placing his finger on your forehead again, cleaning you up with one touch before anyone else can butt in. "As I said. It's sickening. I think we all know that it's high time we move on to...  _bigger_ ,  _better_  things."

"Ugh,  _great_ ," the demon grunts, standing up, suddenly bored with your body at the moment now that it's no longer stained in blood. "Now what—gonna serve up your holy sausage with a side of wings? 'Cause if so, I'm out for now. Feather fetish ain't my thing."

Meanwhile you press your lips to Dean's knuckles in one final worshipful kiss before he pulls his fist off of your lips. "No feathers," he tells them decisively. "Wings aren't her thing either."

He knows you so well—although he could without a doubt make  _anything_  your thing, if he wanted, wings and feathers aren't high on the list of kinks that you both want to try.

Dean has always known exactly what isn't your thing. Much more importantly, though, as he pronounces to the entire room in this moment...

His luscious tongue flicks out over his smirking lips. "But I know what is."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, PLEASE do let me know in kudos and comments if you guys are enjoying this!!! <3
> 
> I hope you're excited for what's coming next :D


	10. Good Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New kinks in this chapter: Master/Slave and Master/Pet dynamics (nothing too crazy intense), subjugation with shoe/boot stuff (kissing, trampling (just stepping on sub's head/neck with one foot, not like full-on trampling)), ass spanking/flogging (with belt, no whip or anything yet), Daddy kink (pretty brief in this chapter, if that's not your thing).
> 
> I always feel kind of weird writing these descriptions haha... some of my other fics have chapter summaries that are written more poetically-ish, but here it's just an info dump :P Anyway, I had said in a comment reply earlier that I would continue to warn about kinks with each chapter of this fic, so hopefully it's helpful :)
> 
> And FYI the first gif below is Michael — so it's meant to portray the part in the scene when the reader is first looking at him, not the very beginning when she's looking at the true Dean :P

 

Dean's tongue keeps gleaming visibly in the dark space between his lips as he looks down at you kneeling before him in submissive bliss. That tongue from which you literally died for just one kiss. He raises his right hand toward your messy hair to stroke your head, like the bitch you have always been for him, his dirty little pet.  _God, you fucking love it when he does that. Gets you so damn wet._  Your eyes fall closed in pleasure as subhuman sounds start resonating from your throat, your animal instincts beyond your control, quiet at first, guttural growls and purrs. 

Sure, your dear fiancé Dean Winchester has always seen you as his equal, or honestly way better. Thinks the world of you, respects the shit out of you, loves and cherishes you more than anything, ever. But in this universe, this filthy unfiltered fantasy... he can treat you like exactly what you truly long to be: his property, his toy, his slave in every way. His complete and utter inferior.

"Good girl," he dominantly croons, knowing those words off of his lips are like a fucking drug to you. 

His other hand is now upon your neck, thumb sweeping over where his blade just slit your skin. There isn't so much as a scratch or speck of blood from where that fatal cut had been. But no magic can ever erase the feeling, the memory of laying down your life for him. In a heartbeat, for your one and only Dean, you would do it a thousand times again. 

The path that his hand traces now along the invisible scar, smooth and slow, has the effect of placing an invisible collar around your throat. Choking tight, clamping down. His touch is your collar; your love is the leash, the pull that you will always follow, the tie by which you will forever be bound.

"Mmm. Always such a good little girl for me..." he praises you graciously. You know you'll never be worthy of Dean's praise, yet it's what you live for, every day. "But now... now you wanna be a good girl for them, too. For all of us. Don't you."

You respond right away with a desperate nod and a deep growl. It's all you can do.

While Dean's right hand remains upon your head, his left has risen now to frame your jaw. He angles your face a bit, so that you're facing the angel standing close by, the living god who doesn't even need to spread his wings to be the most supreme celestial being heaven ever saw. The pretty-smiled, sharply styled, pristinely powerful figure of Michael.

"How about this big, beautiful archangel," your fiancé says as he tightens his grip around your face. "Hm? How're you gonna repay him for his gift? His holy touch revived your worthless life—what, did you already forget?"

_Of course you didn't_ , you think as the archangel's piercing stare devours and deflowers your soul from the outside in. And Dean knows you couldn't possibly have forgotten. As ever, you were just awaiting his orders. He knows it, which makes the way he taunts and scolds you like this all the more twisted, all the more wickedly delicious.

He snickers at the sight of you basking in his abuse, his faithful masochistic pet. "You haven't even thanked him yet. Ungrateful little bitch."

Whimpering in self-hatred, filled with guilt for what a bad girl you have been, you gaze in reverence at the gorgeous host of heaven.  _You would do absolutely anything to show him your undying gratitude..._

"Fall at his feet, whore," your lover commands, letting go of your head and casting it down roughly toward the floor. "Crawl like the fucking dog you are. Beg for the privilege to kiss his shoes. If he'll even let you."

Eager as always to obey, you crawl on all fours across the short distance that lies between you and the angel. Kneeling before him facedown, head bowed, pressed into the ground between his holy feet, you pray that your fiancé's words have given you permission to speak—it's hard to think of any other way to beg right now. Pleading puppy dog eyes aren't an option, as you can't even see Michael's glorious face from this angle.

"P-please..." you stammer, partly muffled by the grimy floor, "...may I please kiss your feet, sir?"

You can picture the angel shaking his head in disgust as he lets out a scornful sneer. " _Sir_?" he spits out the address like a curse. "Isn't that what you call your human lover? How dare you call your divine lord by the same worn-out word."

_Fuck_ , you think in a terrified panic—you should've known better. Yet you can't regret your error, when his wrath is your reward; you adore how the sinister edge in his tone makes you shudder. "Please forgive me, my... my lord..."

One of the feet beside you shifts just then. On the instant, you gasp in anticipation of what you can guess is coming. You already know you will fucking love it. Sure enough, the next thing you feel is his smooth, polished footwear forcefully shoving your head sideways, so that you're staring at his opposite foot still planted on the ground, while the sole of the lifted shoe pushes down onto your cheek hard and rough, crushing and smothering your face. "Stupid cunt. Did you honestly think I'd state the answer in the question?" Michael mocks with a low, savage laugh as he smashes you into the floor. "Let's try that again, whore."

Before you can say anything more, the demon behind you decides to join in the fun. "Damn right she's a dumb fucking cunt," he rasps, and without seeing, you can tell that he is leering at your ass. It's upraised high in the air as you bow low before the angel, steeply arching your back. The demon clearly digs the sight of that. "Maybe we can beat some sense into her, huh? Bitch always behaves better after some punishment..."

" _Mmmphh..._ " you can't help but groan into the ground, listening to the demon undoing his belt—that telltale leathery rustle, click and snap of the buckle. Smooth and slick and metallic and pure fucking  _magic_. Always hot as hell. The black-eyed bastard knows how wet you always get at the sound.

"Wrong again, slave," the archangel says, the toe of his dress shoe doling out a sharp little kick to the side of your face. Though he knows well that your brainless  _mmmphh_  wasn't meant as another attempt to properly address him, he'll carry on as if it was, because torturing and humiliating you is what he does.  _And damn, you wouldn't have it any other way_. 

The last word Michael had just said resounds on repeat in your head:  _slave_. Aside from just how perfect it is to hear that subjugating term come out of his heavenly mouth, as his sacred foot keeps on stomping you down... you are grateful all of a sudden, because the response to his question is obvious then. Always has been, given that you are his pet, his servant; no divinity has ever been so dominant. He owns you, owns entire worlds, dimensions ripe for the destroying at his fingertips, and he knows it. So do you—and calling him by his rightful title will show it.

You've never been happier to blurt out an answer: " _Master_."

"There we go," the angel growls in gratified approval, nudging your face closer toward his other foot as you tremble in pleasure. "That's a good little bitch. Now you've earned yourself one precious kiss."

"Oh, thank you—th-thank you  _so_  much, Master," you stutter before smushing your breathless lips into his shoe, moaning in bliss as your mouth makes contact with the smoothly shined surface. Though you'd much rather kiss the feet that stand within, there's something so goddamned demeaning about worshiping what he's wearing. Everything that he touches is perfect and deserves to be worshiped.

"Ugh, look at that," the demon snarls as you feel him reach down with both hands to yank the jeans off of your hips, letting the waistband rumple around your upper legs, exposing your slutty thong and otherwise bare ass. "So fucking pathetic. Filthy little mutt. You like kissing those holy feet, slut?"

The long, deep French kiss that you've been pressing into Michael's shoe hasn't ended yet. Because he's only granted you the one. You can't bear the thought of being denied this privilege again once this first kiss is done...

Yet you know that you need to respond to the demon. You break the lingering pucker of your lips to answer him. "Y-yes..."

"Yes what," he snaps, right hand suddenly coming down against one of your cheeks in a merciless slap.

And that feels so damn  _good_  that, mind blissfully blown as it is, you cannot even manage the answer right now, though it's achingly obvious. " _Fuck!_ Yes—yes...!"

"I said," the demon grunts as you can sense him standing up to his full height again, taking a firm grip of the belt that he'd undone, "yes  _what_."

The strip of leather lashes  _hard_ against the same cheek, and at that, the word flies off your lips instantly. " _Daddy!_  Yes, Daddy!"

Your punishment is even harsher now that you've gotten the answer. Because that is your reward, of course. "Mmm. Damn fucking straight, babygirl," the demon purrs. "Know who's your daddy. Tight little ass all nice and red for me already..."

"Ugh. Another of your sickening kinks," the angel scoffs at the demon, stepping away from you all of a sudden, causing you to yelp at the absence of his powerful shoes completely surrounding you. "First blood, now this? If any other clones in the room enjoy the fantasy of father-on-daughter incest, do feel free to step in. Be my guest."

_Oh yes_ —though the sensation of servicing Michael's feet had been pure heaven, there are still other Deans in attendance. The angel and demon, along with your one true lover, have been stealing the show so far. And though you would never complain about that, everyone present knows that the porno that Jensen is filming will feature a few other stars...

"Such a prude," the demon jeers as Michael turns to leave. "Yeah, that's right. Walk away like a pussy. Go kiss your own shoes..."

"I am _so_ done wasting my divine breath on you," the archangel retorts, ignoring the demon after those words, keeping his blazing blue gaze locked on yours as he sits his fine ass down in a chair across the room.

But soon another set of feet saunters to stand in front of you, blocking the view. Another pair of polished shoes. While Daddy's belt keeps beating down against your ass relentlessly, you raise your head up a bit to behold the man towering over you, this new version of your beloved Dean.

_New indeed_. You gulp as you gawk up at him, because this is a view you've never seen—unlike the other men, he's not familiar to you; kneeling beneath him sexually is not a position in which you've ever been.  _Except in all your fantasies as his slutty secretary..._

"Well, well, well," the demon chuckles from behind you, pausing the flogging for a second, letting you savor the sting left all over your skin in the wake of his belt. "If it isn't Mr. Smith. Finally decided to step out of your office? You've been so damn shy all this time, Wall Street wallflower. Our little princess probably forgot you exist." 

_Oh, you most definitely hadn't._  Though there's no real reason the demon would know that.

But your one true Dean knows it. He can always see into your head. "Oh, she didn't forget," he says, taking a steady stride toward you, then stepping down on the back of your neck, shoving your face back down toward the ground with the force of his dirty brown boot.  _Fuck, he knows you so well. Ever since Michael left, you've been dying to be crushed again, craving the feeling of being trampled underfoot..._ he goes on, addressing Mr. Smith while he stomps on his pet. "There's a place for you too in this world. In her deep, dark desires. She wants us bad, every last one of us. Filthy girl."

When your fiancé's foot lifts of you then, you don't even have time to mourn its absence, because then he's pulling you violently by the hair to haul you off the floor, manhandling you up onto your feet till you're standing right in front of him, his chiseled body pressed into your back, crotch of his jeans rubbing against your naked ass. Naked except for the thong that's still wedged in your crack. Your own jeans are still crumpled right above your knees, the way the demon left them when he got you nice and ready for his spanking.

One of Dean's sturdy hands remains twined in your hair, tilting your head slightly back while the other grips you by the neck. Presenting your partially undressed body like some kind of snack to this dashing corporate douchebag. "You don't know this cunt the way we do," he tells Mr. Smith, while he teases your throat with his dominant touch and the warmth of his breath. "Never seen anything so damn dirty. Have you."

With the office incarnation of your lover right in front of you, you pause for a second to admire the view.  _The sleek sweep of his hair, the tight tug of his tie, the crisp cut of his suit_... and the hottest part is that he definitely seems to be admiring you, too.

Before Mr. Smith can respond, your fiancé continues. "That's why you're gonna be the one to get her naked. Rip all these clothes right off our sweet little pet. Ravage this fucking whore, discover and dominate every damn inch of her. Just like the rest of us have done so many times before."

The demon grumbles from where he's still standing close by. "Hey, now I got the job started, didn't I? Doesn't seem fair to let Fancy Pants finish—"

"But it's what  _she_ wants," Dean cuts him off, grazing his pearly teeth over your ear as he breathes these words into it. "Isn't it, bitch."

" _Yes_ ," you instantly hiss. "Yes, sir."

"That's right," he growls, fingers digging into your neck as he angles your head to look straight up at Mr. Smith. "Now look into this fucking stranger's eyes. This man you've never met until tonight. And let him see,  _feel_ , just how bad you want his dick. So bad. All the kinky shit you've dreamed of doing with him. He can read it all across your face, slut. Just like that."

_God, you know he can._ This big, strong, swanky, strangely unfamiliar man. He hasn't even touched you yet and you're already fifty shades of soaking wet.

"What should this fucking whore call you, huh?" your fiancé asks, one of his hands drifting down to grope your ass. "Wanna make her guess? Or if you're in the mood to be a little more direct... you could just tell us."

In more ways than one, Mr. Smith isn't quite like the others, and Dean knows it. That's why the office stud doesn't waste any time demanding his desired address. His emerald stare pierces you to your core as he just says it, straight up—just as with Master and Daddy, the answer with this version of Dean is already obvious. "Boss."

It had been obvious. But nonetheless, hearing him say it is  _so fucking hot_...

The heat of the moment is cut short by a snort from the demon. He's always had a thing for butting in.  _For butt stuff in general_ , you silently think.

" _Boss_?" he scoffs. "As if, hot shot. Few minutes ago you were just standing there too shocked to talk—"

"You know what, you supernatural piece of shit?" it's now Mr. Smith's turn to butt in, turning to face the demon as he bluntly interrupts him. "I think it's high time you shut the fuck up. Some of us just prefer to walk the walk. Like a boss. For some of us, unlike yourself, our cock is bigger than our talk."

He turns then to face the room, eyes scanning over Michael and Holster, who had also snickered at his utterance of 'Boss'—though not as loudly as the demon, you had still noticed. And, evidently, so had Mr. Smith.

"Sure, maybe my eyes don't magically change color like some CGI sci-fi character. Maybe I'm not a psycho gun freak who wears all my toys around," he says, his authoritative aura more compelling with each word out of his mouth. "But that doesn't mean I don't got clout. I've got a kind of power all you chumps can only dream about."

The demon isn't one to easily back down. He snorts again, black eyes skimming the other man with a judgmental frown. "Hate to break it to you, 'Boss', but... well, the only one here who would ever dream about you in those hideous suspenders is our desperate little slut."

"Let's hear him out," the archangel suggests from across the room. "Enlighten me, clean-shaven monkey. What exactly is this... 'clout'?"

The boss licks his luscious pink lips. "Well, for one, more money than all you can count."

It's Jensen Fucking Ackles' cue to speak up now. "Dude. Have you  _seen_  my bank account?"

"What's that? Oh, I'm sorry—couldn't hear those pennies jingling in your pocket," Mr. Smith taunts, exuding confidence in response to the suggestion of financial competition. "Too busy taking calls from all the crazy rich clients who pay millions for two minutes in my office and respect my ass so much they wanna suck it."

Jensen has more than a little confidence of his own, and he's not above a low blow. "Ugh,  _please_. As if. You're pushing paper at some bridge & iron dump that no one's ever heard of..."

"What, you mean Sandover? That was  _ages_ ago, peasant," the boss tells him. "Now I'm the CEO of... well, I won't bother reciting my resume."

He starts walking over toward the self-appointed director of the sex tape, and although you're aching for his closeness again, you're not gonna complain. Because watching all these lookalikes of your lover fighting with each other in testosterone-fueled rage is sexy as fuck, to be frank. You've had more than a few fleeting thoughts of certain versions getting it on— _like, how could you not be intrigued by the idea of Dean-on-Dean action_ —and you're really not even ashamed.

Mr. Smith keeps up a steady stream of mockery of Mr. Ackles; it seems he could go on for days. "Sure, showbiz pays. But at the end of the day, Jen, all you're good for is your pretty face. And we all know that beauty fades."

Jensen's gorgeous scruffy face bristles at that; it's not as if he can be blamed. As far as you're concerned, you're pretty sure that his beauty won't ever fade, no matter what anyone else may say.

But the boss goes on before the actor can say anything. Apparently done with his brief, close-up cock-fighting session, he is now coming back towards you again. "Whereas this kind of wealth? This kind of power? It stays," he proclaims, sentencing you to submission with his smoldering green gaze, proud of the filthy rich, big dick energy that he radiates. "And it  _slays_. In all kinds of ways."

The demon gets in one last jab, before this raging Dean-on-Dean battle is bound to be over. "Well, Boss, now I honestly can't tell—are you flirting with  _us_ or with her?"

"Oh, I don't flirt," the boss says as he reaches out a hand to touch your skin—for the first time, in either of your lives. You're dying in all the most amazing ways, as his commanding, clean-cut fingers brush slowly against your face. "I cut straight to the chase."

Without a word, somehow you know that he wants you kneeling again now, looking up from the floor. You sink to your knees like a whore, gawking up at his beauty, so different yet so familiar, these same beloved features of your one and only Dean Winchester. The fiancé standing behind you, who lets go of his hold and steps back to let Mr. Smith do his thing.  _God, you are so obsessed with every fucking version of him, every vision of this flawless face..._

And you are just as obsessed with the words that the boss utters next. With the promise they hold, one you know he won't break.  _You hope he will break you, though._  It sounds like he knows. Sounds like he intends to, in every damn way. 

Like the boss he is, he tells you—and everyone else in the room—just how he fucking operates. How he dominates. "What I want... I  _take_."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this :D
> 
> P.S. I know that's not an actual Dean Smith gif, and I feel kind of bad about it, but THAT CAMERA ANGLE LOOKING DOWN IS JUST TOO FUCKING PERFECT and at least he's wearing a suit in it, so yeah... no regrets.
> 
> I've been sooo grateful for your kudos and comments!! Please please do keep them coming! <3


	11. Loaded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii ok so as much as we all love the angel and the demon, this scene finally focuses more on other versions of Dean :) In some ways it's still quite a tease (I know, I know, I'm sorry), but the gang-bang is obviously inevitable, so don't worry!! I'm just letting the dominant Deans in my imagination determine the flow of the story... and as it turns out, they're pretty damn twisted and like to make their bitch suffer and beg for a long time for what she wants. But it will come. And so will she, and all of them. Of course. Because this is their bitch's universe ;)
> 
> Oh, and I think the only new kink in this chapter is a little bit of gun stuff toward the end, when Holster steps in...

 

He said it like it is: the boss takes what he wants. 

And right now, what he wants is to claim you and control you as his filthy fucking slave, his obedient little cunt. That's all you long to be for him. Submissive and subservient, surrendering completely to the force of his authority. To the way his dark gaze marks you as his property, traces every line and curve of your body, making every inch as part of his personal territory. Down before him on your knees, you are still mostly clothed; his piercing eyes seem strong enough to burn holes through the fabric, though.

"Look at you, slut," he taunts, forefinger sliding powerfully along the ridge of your low-hanging jaw. "So desperate to give me everything I want. Bet you can't fucking wait for me to rip those clothes off."

_Ugh, he is so fucking hot..._ Your instinctual response slips out without a second thought. "Yes, Boss."

_Swack_. The sudden impact of his sharp smack paralyzes you with shock. His smooth palm had come down against your cheek, heavy and hard, instantly causing your head to spin, to see stars as your breathing catches and your heart fucking stops.  _Damn. He really does hit like a boss. Hard enough to break your fucking head off._

And he knows that you are soaking wet at the thought. "Did I say you could talk?"

You struggle to regain control over your reeling head, so you can shake it in response. Try not to inhale too loud as your breathing picks up again, eager to maintain your silence, just like he wants.  _No, Boss_.

"That's right. Wag that stupid head just like the bitch you are," he snarls, hand moving up from your jaw to wind into your hair and grip your skull. "So dumb you probably thought these clean, white-collar hands would be a little...  _soft_. Hell, you've been knocked around by a demon, a dickbag from heaven—after all that, I’d bet your sorry ass would never guess anyone else could hit so hard."

You sigh in arousal at the feel of his dominant fingers and the sound of his degrading words. He's right, of course; you hadn't been prepared for such skull-crushing force. You had never thought that any form of Dean—in his role as a dom, using you as his whore—would be  _soft_. But compared to the angel, the demon, and even the other three human versions of him... you had honestly expected less from the boss.

So now he's gonna show you just how wrong you were. And you're gonna love every last minute of the lesson that you learn, savor every sweet second of the torture. Gonna get off on how good, how bad, it hurts. You're damn sure Mr. Smith is the absolute best fucking teacher.

You stare up at him in rapture as he— _oh my God_ , you realize in ravenous awe— _he is removing his suspenders_...

The boss smirks as drool pools in your mouth and starts shamelessly dripping from the corners. "Mmm. You that hungry for me? Yeah, seeing me strip seems like a sweet reward. Doesn't it, whore," he teases while he swiftly takes off his tie and then sets to work undoing the buttons of his freshly ironed, light blue shirt. "But no. This is just part of your torture."

_Fuck. Fuck._ Once all the buttons are undone, the sides of his open shirt part down the middle and hang loosely over his shoulders. And at the sight of his bare chest and abdomen, the mouthwatering glimpse of his firm, flawless skin, his torso toned and sculpted in a way that the other five forms of Dean have never been— _because, well, as you might've guessed, this is the only incarnation in which he eats salad for lunch and even hits the gym_ —you are filled with the urge to touch and to taste every fine inch of this godlike physique, to kiss and lick and worship him... It's the same beautiful body as your one true Dean, and yet so very  _different_.

In all honesty, you're obsessed with the natural, rugged muscles of your dearly beloved, the way the hunter's life has honed his frame and left its mark on every precious inch of it, shaping your fiancé into something equal parts human and divine. The way he digs in every pie you bake for him because he doesn't give a shit about his diet. Because he would rather enjoy every pleasure he can, as long as he's alive. 

And for your one and only pie-loving hunter, it's that combination of exertion and indulgence, heroism and hedonism, that keeps him soft enough to tease and squeeze, tender and sweet when making love, and yet all kinds of hard and tough and rough around the edges, strong enough to break you in half during all your kinky sex, a body that's just begging for you to treasure and to worship every perfect inch you find. So much more perfect, to you, than any male figure you've seen in the movies or on the pages of a magazine.  _Which is where Mr. Smith belongs, apparently._  Despite all of their many differences, you already know that the naturally muscular frame of the five other versions of Dean is pretty much the same as your fiancé's. Which is a good thing, because you  _prefer_ him that way, if you had to decide. 

But in this universe, you can freely indulge in the best of all worlds—you don't have to decide. And as much as you love your one true Dean's physique, you cannot deny that, at the same time, the chiseled hunk of male-model-like muscle towering over you now, a version of him that you've never seen in all your life, just looks downright sublime... 

_Swack_. The boss brutally smacks the same cheek again, in the second that you'd started rising higher on your knees, arching your neck, unable to resist the urge to taste him. All thoughts of your fiancé, of anyone other than your corporate superior, momentarily fade from your mind. You flinch from the exquisite sting, sinking back down in submission on the instant.

"I said," Mr. Smith sneers, green eyes sparkling in a dark leer, the sight of your pain clearly bringing him pleasure, "this is part of your torture. To sit there like a fucking dog and watch... but not to taste, or even touch... this body that you want so goddamn much."

You bob your head in a defeated nod, trying not to let too much drool spill from your open jaw. Like the slobbering mutt you are, you fail miserably. And the boss isn't about to let you get away with making such a mess at his feet.

"Look at that—fucking drooling all over my shoes," he scoffs down at you, tightening his grasp on your scalp while he begins unbuckling his belt with his other hand, the sight of the bulge beneath making your thirsty tongue twitch. "Sloppy little bitch. What're you gonna do about that, huh? What're you gonna fucking do..."

You're not sure if he wants you to speak, so you just gape up at him reverently, trying to give him a silent reply with your worshipful eyes.  _I'm so sorry, Boss_ _—_ _I'll do anything you want me to_...

Mr. Smith finally grants you permission. "Answer the fucking question, cunt."

"Thank you, Boss," you whimper, quivering with gratitude. "Please,  _please_ let me kiss your shoes. Clean them off with my tongue. If—if it would please you."

He snickers as you blink lovingly up at him. " _God_ , you are disgusting. Such a filthy little thing," he goes on, viciously dishing out his delicious abuse. "You don't deserve to kiss these shoes. Don't even deserve to kiss the ground beneath these rich, powerful feet. But you know that already. Don't you."

You nod and lick your lips, getting off on being treated like a piece of shit. "Y-yes, Boss. I do."

"Damn straight," he says, spitting on your forehead and smearing the thick fluid savagely over your face, then suddenly letting go of your head so that he can use both hands to finish unzipping his pants. "Now this is what I'm gonna do. To torture you, to fucking punish you. Gonna take out my big, rock hard cock. Gonna start jacking it off. While you kneel there like the desperate little slut you are. And watch. Just fucking watch."

_Ohh Godddd_... you moan silently in your head as he starts doing just what he said. His torture is so painfully hot that you're pretty sure it's bound to kill you dead. This shit is hitting all the spots from all your fantasies about this big bad boss, everything you've so shamelessly dreamed about corporate douche Dean owning your inferior ass and the whole office scene, every workplace kink you've ever wanted. There's so much else that he can do to you— _like with that undone tie, that unfastened belt... the table in the room, which he could bend you over as if it's his personal desk..._ so much to do, still, but for now he's just keeping it simple. Because sometimes that kind of torture hurts the worst. The best.

Utterly hypnotized, you gawk as Boss's tailored slacks and well-fitted white briefs slide down his sculpted thighs, and as his massive meat, the center of his power and prestige, vigorously springs free. Your eyes go impossibly wide at the sight of the prize. Because  _holy fucking fuck_ —it is so much more perfect than you'd ever even dreamed. On instinct, struggling to stay silent yet bursting at the seams with burning need, you bite your lip so hard it bleeds. 

Just like the rest of Mr. Smith, this dick is the same as your fiancé's, and yet so unspeakably different. You love the cock of your one true Dean more than anything—love the way that, despite being so fucking exquisitely pretty, still it somehow always strikes you as so raw and rugged, rough and real and radiating wild rage and manly energy, made to ravage and rip you to shreds, ever ready to get down and dirty—and you truly prefer it that way, as it is. Just as with every inch of his body. 

And yet the boss's cock, the way it stands so perfectly erect, professional and picturesque, pink and pristine, probably smart enough to sign a goddamn contract, commanding all kinds of reverence and respect, so inconceivably fresh and clean... is just a motherfucking  _masterpiece_. 

This monumental dick can get down and dirty just as well; you can already tell, there's no doubt about that. It can ravage and rip your ass, right in damn half. It's just gonna get the job done with a whole lot of white-collar swagger and crazy rich class. Because Mr. Smith is fucking loaded. In more ways than one. And you need every drop of the load that he's got in that cock.

Going on gawking at it, you can't remember the last time you needed something in your mouth so fucking bad.

And that's exactly why Boss isn't gonna give you that.

From nearby in the room, you hear the demon mutter something.  _Daddy was bound to interrupt at some point_ , you think; he's already gone for a long time without butting in. "Shit—look at her. Bitch is drooling like  _mad_..."

It's obviously true; the mess of your own slobber spilling all over the boss's fancy shoes must be insane by now. The fact that you can't clean it with your tongue, the way you'd begged, should make you sad. But you're too mesmerized by his cock in this moment to care about anything else. Kneeling and staring as he slowly, deliberately strokes his right fist up and down his magnificent shaft, barely encircling its mighty girth in his big, sturdy hand...

The demon isn't finished. "Though of course, if it were  _my_  dick—"

"But it isn't," Boss snaps on the instant, eyes still on you, not even turning to face his devilish twin. "So you better stay in your goddamned lane, demon. And get in line. You've had your turn; now it's  _mine_."

In any other universe, you're sure, Daddy would never let a cocky human talk down at him and claim control over his baby girl like that. He would be  _beyond_  pissed off. And no doubt he is—but this is  _your_  world. Part of you always likes how the demon butts his way into everything, which is why he keeps on doing it, as often as you want. But you also know when you want him to stop.

And right now, you need him to shut up so that you can stay focused on the Boss's fucking perfect cock.

Especially now that he's spouting out mind-blowing dirty talk. "Yeah that's it, you pathetic little slut. Just like that. Sit and watch," he taunts. "Look at you, panting like a mutt. Bet you're dripping wet. Mmm, so damn greedy for my cock. Breathing so fucking hard. Getting off on how good it smells, huh? Like the filthy animal you are?"

_Oh God, yes_ —he smells so good you're seeing stars. Though Mr. Smith's dick is ridiculously clean, still the rich smell that you're soaking in is the same dirty essence of Dean, the scent that gets you so love-drunk every time you get close to his meat. Clean doesn't mean the boss doesn't sweat; of course he does, when he's sitting for hours in his place of power, for several hours after his most recent shower, fine ass pressed against his seat. You can smell, can almost taste, the salt, the musk, mingling with the heavenly scent of his sweet juicy precome, and can see a subtle sheen of sweat glistening on his sack, hanging so fucking full and heavy, right in front of the crack of his delicious ass, and just...  _ugh_. Every cell in your body is burning up with desperate need, the urge to inhale and devour, on the verge of exploding from the heat.

The boss knows it. Obviously. He brings his other hand toward his balls, massaging them sensuously and smirking as you watch. "Yeah. Maybe if you're a good bitch, I'll rub these nuts all over that filthy snout of yours, let you sniff all the sweat off. Maybe even smother your face with my whole fucking crotch. Make you suffocate on this smell you love so much."

" _Oh my God_...!" you hear yourself suddenly scream, because, um—those words alone, on top of all the slick heat that's been building in your cunt, for so damn long... just made you come.

"Ugh. Worthless fucking scum," the boss grunts as he watches you tremble in front of him, squirting and soaking through your panties, your whole body convulsing in a series of wet, violent spasms. "That's all you could take, huh? Before you had to go and open that disgusting mouth, that desperate dripping cunt? I really oughta bend you over my desk and beat your ass for disobedience. But you know what? You're not even worth the time it'd take to dish out punishment."

He leans down to spit in your gasping mouth, then rests his hand right by the side of your face, hovering there for a second as you wait eagerly for the smack that you crave... and then he steps back, pulls up his pants, covering up his perfect cock as he saunters away.  _Holy... ughhh._ You had been so ready for him to slap you silly. Flames of need are blazing all across every inch of your tortured cheek. 

The boss finds himself what looks like the comfiest chair in the room and takes a seat, and you see him gesture nonchalantly toward one of the other versions of Dean. "Why don't you take a turn with her, gun freak."

A few seconds pass before he gets a response from Holster. "Oh, I'll take my turn. But on  _my_  terms."

Even from this distance, you can hear Mr. Smith's haughty snicker.

Holster doesn't seem fazed by that, not in the least. "You may be the boss of her, but don't let that get to your white-collar head—'cause in this world? We all are," he goes on, hand twitching on his handgun ominously. "And you sure as hell are  _not_  the boss of me."

From behind his camera, Jensen chimes in. "Look, dude, you talking big is well and good, but we all know those toys ain't loaded—"

"Think again. 'Cause right now, loaded is the way our little slut  _wants_  all these weapons. Isn't it?" Holster says, turning and slowly coming toward you then. "They'll only satisfy her gun kink if they're full of fucking bullets."

_Oh shit_ —you realize in this moment how right he must be. Whereas the guns had needed to be empty, back when your fiancé had wanted to shoot a bullet at the pearl to get out of this world, or when it seemed like all the incarnations of him might want to use weapons to slaughter each other... now things are a little different. Now the stage has been set, the rules established, for you and for all of them. 

The only rule being the fact that, whatever you want... you get.

Sure enough, as Holster pauses to unload the gun in his hand, it's plain for the whole room to see what has happened. Somehow, in the time since the initial confrontation, a whole shitload of bullets magically got in.

Jensen is impressed, as is everyone else. "Well,  _damn_. Thought you were just gonna get off shooting blanks, which would've been so lame, but that—that's pretty awesome, I gotta admit."

"Lame, awesome—whatever you think of it, I couldn't give less of a shit," Holster answers without even looking at him. Because he's now standing in front of you where you're still kneeling, recovering from your recent earth-shattering orgasm. He towers over you and stares you down as he reloads his gun, filling it up with all those fatal fucking bullets. "I'm just here for our filthy little bitch." 

You all but come  _again_  at the utterance of 'bitch' from those brutally beautiful lips. And you sort of do, when he's done loading his gun and presses the barrel right under your chin.

"Are you coming?" he asks, tone deadly serious, as if it's some kind of despicable sin. Which it  _is_ , when none of these versions of Deans have allowed it. "Without permission? Dirty bitch is gonna have to beg to be forgiven."

_Shit_ —those words from Holster's luscious mouth, spoken in that husky growl that makes your head spin, are just about threatening to make you fucking come  _again_. You summon all your strength to keep the floodgates from bursting, to hold everything in...

"Guess I'll need a title of my own too, then," he sneers with a wicked expression, something in between a grimace and a grin. "Remember what you called me, that one time I fucked your brains out so hard that you left them in 2014? Hm? When we had some fun with this gun? Sure, you went crawling back to your old Dean. But we both know you weren't ever the same bitch again." 

_Yes, of course you remember_ —you remember how he'd fucked you, and the livid way your boyfriend had reacted when he walked in, and the way that it had sort of... changed things, once you got back to your own dimension. For the better, ultimately—though it had seemed so much for the worse back then. That visit to the then-future was a big part of what had tapped into the dirtiest depths of your dark inner whore. A whore that Dean still loved, but couldn't fuck the way you wanted,  _needed_  to be taken, until... well, until today, in this fantasy world. You remember all of that and more.

But before you can say anything, Holster's left hand closes in a viselike grip around your throat, just short of cutting off your breathing. In the meantime, the tip of the gun has moved up from your chin to your temple, tracing a path of sin, a promise of impending death across your head.

"The same damn name as back then," Holster says. "That's what you're gonna call me. When I let you fucking speak."

You can't right now, obviously.  _Can barely even breathe..._

So you're grateful that he says it, for the camera and for everyone else in the room to hear, his rightful title, loud and clear. "Call me Chief."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this!! As always, if so, please do bring on the kudos and comments :) <3
> 
> And YES, that IS a gif of Holster asking "Are you coming?" because that is a scene from SPN that actually exists *drooling uncontrollably for the rest of eternity* :P~~~~~~


	12. All Hail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In terms of kinks — this scene goes deeper into the gun thing, and there's a ton of gang-domming and abuse/humiliation. I think it finally sets the full stage for the great big gang-bang that's to come ;) I hope you all enjoy this one!!

 

There's just something about the way Dean Fucking Winchester handles a gun. No hands on earth, you're pretty sure, were ever so perfectly built to wield these dangerously sexy weapons. It's ridiculous how much the sight of him taking care of his impressive collection, inspecting and cleaning and then loading each lethal piece full of bullets—or aiming one straight at his target, finger on the trigger, radiating rage and power when he pulls it—always turns you on. 

Your one true Dean has known about this kink of yours for as long as you've been together. He discovered it not long after you two lovebirds first stumbled into each other; watching him shoot some evil thing to death, the day you met, was actually what awakened it. He'd always thought your gun fetish was cute, and kind of fun. So sometimes he would play along. But he would never dare to play in the most sick and twisted ways. The ways he knew you'd really want. Something would always hold him back, from fully indulging this kink, bringing you right up to the brink of fatal risk. He hated the part of himself that would get off on something like  _that_.

It wasn't till your visit to 2014, when you met the then-future Dean, that the holster-wearing version finally let you fulfill your kinky dreams. In ways that were deliciously risky. Downright deadly. You'll never forget how good it felt when he made you suck on his fully loaded gun, then held it up against the back of your head while his huge cock hammered your cunt, then shoved the lethal weapon deep inside your ass, his finger on the trigger as he fucked the barrel into you so fast, so rough, because he knew how hard that kind of thing would get you off. 

There's just something about the way Holster—or  _Chief_ , as he named himself—handles a gun. Any and every damn version of Dean does it well. But he does it best. And he's doing it now, the cold tip of his pistol pressed into your skull, with five other Deans watching, and it's hot as all fucking hell.

_He chose a fitting title_ , you think to yourself. Back in 2014-land, you remember how he was the leader of his whole damn camp, holding together that entire band of strangers and survivors with the force of his command. He was the undisputed head honcho, at the top of the totem pole, exercising absolute control. And, of course, fucking all of the women. Whenever he wanted. Which was pretty damn often. Despite the worlds of difference, across six incarnations, Dean's sex drive is always the same: intense, insatiable, insane. Impossible to contain.

Your fiancé would take every chance to tell you and show you that you've always been more than enough, to give him everything he craves, in every way. It's always been too crazy to believe, given just how much sex you know he wants and needs... yet somehow, with his words and his touch and his gaze, Dean convinced you a little bit more every day. 

Whereas for Chief... things had turned out somewhat differently. In his universe, Holster was a shameless player, as he always used to be before you two had met. Because in that version of reality, you were dead. You had sacrificed yourself, in a fight against evil that had taken place a few years before 2014, for the best and most worthwhile reason: to save him. To lay down your life for your beloved Dean. The one thing he had always ordered you to  _never_  do, the only commandment from him you would ever break, and you'd do it again and again. He hated you for that, almost as much as he loved you. And he was sure that the vision before him was some kind of unholy monster, or a cruel figment of his imagination, when a version of you from another reality suddenly burst on the scene. 

That was probably why he let himself fuck you that way. At least part of the reason. But even after Chief could feel just how alive you were, how truly you, how fully  _real_ —he was in so deep, by then, that it didn't stop him. He kept going, harder even. Of course, when the true Dean finally stormed in, there was fucking hell to pay. You remember every second of that time-warped day. 

And here now, in this pearl-created world... you seriously love how those twisted scenes, from that alternate version of 2014, have set the fucking stage.

The stage is set, guns loaded, and it's time to fucking play.

"Say my name, bitch," Holster growls as the tip of his handgun slides down your cheek, toward your lips. "Say it. Look at me."

Oh, you're sure as hell looking already. But he wants you to  _really_ look—hard and deep, through his bright jade green eyes into the darkness that's inside, the raging beast. You do just that, as you succumb to his command. "Chief," you breathe as the pistol scrapes over your teeth. "Yes, Chief."

"Mmm. So fucking filthy," he sneers as your lips pucker up against the metal, moving instinctively to press a kiss onto the barrel. "You like kissing this thing, all loaded up to kill? Being a good little gun-sucking slut for me?"

" _Fuck_  yes—thank you, Chief..." you sigh, trembling violently as slick heat builds between your thighs.

"Look at you. Soaking wet, so damn desperate," he snickers at the sight. "You're a sick piece of shit, you know that?"

Good  _God_ , those brutally degrading words hit all your spots. "Y-yes, Chief..."

"Say it, then," he demands, rubbing his gun all over your tongue, smacking your cheek with the hard palm of his other hand. "Tell us what you are. We already know it, but hearing it out of this dirty mouth will get us all real fucking hard. And that's what you want. Isn't it, cunt."

"Yes, Chief...!" this pledge of obedience, set on repeat, escapes from you again in a needy grunt.

Holster shoves the barrel deeper past your panting lips. "Say it."

You stutter the words out as well as you can, while gagging on his gun. All muffled and muzzled like this, you end up sounding like a motherfucking idiot, and that makes everything just all the more humiliating, which is exactly how you like it. "I—I'm a... sick piece of shit."

Just hearing and feeling and tasting that confession from your own gun-smothered tongue, as Chief had commanded, is enough to send you to heaven. But then... but then you hear something that's just  _beyond_  heaven— _is that sound what you think...?_  Yeah, it is. All six men in the room are fucking  _laughing_. That distinctive laugh of Dean's that you adore, the smile that you live for, from the man, the  _god_ , you love with all your fucking heart... the six sounds that you hear are so different. But you can hear them all, and there's at least one thing they've got in common: they are all at your expense. Making fun of how stupid you sound, how pathetic you look, choking on this gun like it's a goddamn cock, how low you can go, and the high you are so clearly getting from it because yes, you are just that fucked. 

There's the celestial sneer of the holy angel from heaven; the dark, deviant snicker of the demon; the pompous, professional snort from the boss. The simultaneously savage yet adorable chuckle of Jensen Fucking Ackles. The hoarse, raspy laughter of Holster, standing over you so close that you can hear it, loud and clear, above the rest... except for the one laugh that you love best. Your one true Dean. Husky and throaty and so fucking deep. Harsh and heartless. He's never laughed at you like this, and in any other universe, you know he never would—it's just too fucking  _mean_. But mean is what you want from him; mean feels so fucking good. 

So that's what you get in this world. And at the mortifying sound of being mocked by so many forms of the god you worship and adore, you can feel yet another orgasm threatening to shatter you to shreds, fraying all your nerves, making your toes curl.  _All hail the motherfucking pearl._

"Damn straight, babygirl," you hear the demon purr. "You're nothing but our dirty little fuckdoll."

You can sense Daddy's presence now as he comes closer, as do all the other versions of your lover—some of them in front of where you are, others behind or from the side. Whether or not you see each one, from where you kneel, while Chief keeps feeding you his gun, you hear and feel them all. And they've got tons of shit to say. Verbal abuse to throw your way, insults to hurl and names to call.

Mr. Smith chimes in. "So pathetic. It's disgusting."

"Yeah, she knows it. Knows she's even lower than a piece of shit," your fiancé says, stroking your head in a sinister caress. Though he loves you to death, somehow right now, he makes the act feel cold and loveless—treating you like less than a pet, more like some senseless fucking object—and good God, it's just the  _best_.

Michael leans in then to spit on your face, aiming right on your upper lip, painfully chapped and stretched out wide around the gun. He reaches down to spread the sweet fluid all over the rim of your mouth with his heavenly thumb. "Subhuman scum."

The last one to speak up is Jensen. He's the farthest away, at the moment, but at least he's finally moved away from his director's station, the camera still rolling as he steps on set, coming toward you at last, slowly closing the distance. "Damn—looks like she's gonna come...  _again_..."

"You think you deserve to come, slut?" Holster snaps, hand hovering against your cheek as if to deal a brutal slap, but instead simply staying there. Just as Boss had so recently done. "Don't you fucking dare. You've already come without permission, and you ain't even been punished yet for that one."

It's true, of course—but in this world, there's no difference between punishment and reward. Everything that any version of Dean could give you is pure heaven on earth, hot as hell, and he gives it so well, more than you'd ever hope to deserve.

"No, you're just gonna sit there and choke on this big loaded gun," Chief goes on, tip of his pistol pushing past your tonsils, a sadistic smirk curling his beautiful lips as he sees you splutter and gasp. "And we're gonna keep watching and laughing at your sorry ass. Make you even more desperate to worship and serve us. You got that? Dumb bitch. God, you're so fucking worthless."

Everything about his dominance is so goddamned delicious. You wish you could gulp this gun straight down your throat, swallow it whole, every last bullet in it, take all the shots deep in your soul. To show Dean just how deeply and completely you submit to his control. But he already knows; they all already know. And Chief can tell just how hungry you are for this deadly weapon, more than ever right now—so, of course, this is when he suddenly decides to pull it out.

"This ain't the only gun I've got. But you knew that. Didn't you, slut," he snarls, rubbing the slobbery barrel all over your snout, then using it to force your face a bit sideways and down. "Why don't you worship at my altar. This thigh holster you love so fucking much. Go on, get that filthy whore mouth on these big bad guns. Kiss each one."

You obey on the instant, using your loving lips and thirsty tongue to service all his weapons. Your pussy clenches with arousal as you hear another snicker from the demon. 

"Oh, she's digging this. Bitch likes it twisted," Daddy says as he grips your hair, one of his strong hands tangling in your messy strands, balling up into a fist. "And she could use the practice—you know, kissing and sucking on more than one thing all at once."

"Mmm..." the boss hums as you feel his gaze skimming your body from bottom to top, back to front. "Gotta wonder how much she can take in that tight little cunt."

"Fuck, just look at what those words are doing to her. Such a greedy whore," Chief taunts, laughing as he watches you quiver in pleasure. He presses his pistol hard into your jaw as you continue worshiping the others in his holster, savoring every inch of each one. "You wish these guns were fucking cocks? Think you can take us all, you naughty slut? That what you want?"

" _Ohhh God_..." you compulsively grunt, unable to hold in your voice for a moment.  _This is all just too fucking hot..._

"No one said you could talk," the archangel scoffs, wrapping one hand tight around your throat to cut your breathing off. "Now are you gonna be an obedient, good little slave or not?"

_Shit_ —you desperately wish you could answer, but he knows you can't in this instant, like this. With your vocal cords strangled in his fist. Can't even nod, with your head caught between the pressure of a pistol and the demon's forceful grip.

Holster isn't quite set to surrender the spotlight, though. For now, for just a moment more, he's still running the show. "When the heavenly host lets go of your throat," he tells you, eyes sparkling dark and bright as he watches you choke, "you're gonna tell me what you want. Think you can do that, cunt? Wanna hear you beg down on your knees for what you fucking need."

Your vision is on the verge of going black when, all of a sudden, the divine hand grants release and lets you breathe. You hasten to follow Chief's orders immediately. "P- _please_ , Chief. Do whatever you want to me..." you implore, carrying on kissing the weapons that you so suicidally adore, as shameless words spill out of your dirty whore mouth. "Please just blow my fucking brains out."

Holster lets out another husky laugh, getting you off every time with that humiliating sound. "Blow your brains out? But that's  _your_ job, ain't it now," he growls as he reaches down to grab your head, yanking it out of the demon's grip to pull your face into his own crotch, where you can feel the throbbing meat beneath the cloth, Chief's fucking massive cock. "Your job to blow this big dick with your slutty little mouth."

Before you can come just from hearing those words, while soaking in the sensation of Holster's bulging erection, Daddy's devilish voice interrupts. "Hold up—think we oughta get this bitch naked before she sucks any of us. I'd already got started ripping these damn clothes off..."

"And Boss is gonna finish the job," your fiancé reminds the demon. Those were the terms that you had previously agreed on. "Our little whore wants to get stripped by a stranger. Someone who ain't ever done her before. And Mr. Smith here is the only one."

_God yes, that's what you want._ And you're certain the boss does, too. But for some reason... something gives him pause just then.

Mr. Smith furrows his golden brows, takes a quick look around. "Now wait a second; what about Jensen?"

"Oh, come  _on_ , dude— _seriously_?" Daddy groans. "You're gonna get all technical when you're the lucky—"

"Save it, demon," Boss cuts him off. "That's not what I mean. Was just wondering... where the fuck is he?"

Sure enough, at the moment, Jensen is nowhere to be seen. You should have realized sooner; you had been too preoccupied with other shit to notice when he left. But whenever it may have been, the room just feels empty when it isn't blessed with the presence of six forms of Dean.

"Well, Mr. Ackles is one of the...  _humans_..." the angel's high-and-mighty voice chimes in.

"Guess that's your graceful way of tryna say he took a pee break," the demon mutters, never one for bullshit grace. "Doesn't he know he should save it for her face?"

Your true Dean looks down and smirks at the sight of you shuddering in bliss at those words, then lifts his head to glance around the room, biting his lip. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he didn't leave to take a piss."

Chief seems fed up with all of this. "Then where the hell d'you think he is?"

A brief silence follows those words, as you all stop to wonder. But the pause doesn't last much longer. Because next thing you know, the lights all go out in this part of the bunker.  _What the..._

Before any of you can panic, though, another set of lights comes on. Bright, flashing, neon lights—from what source, you're not sure—paired with the sound of upbeat party music, pounding hard and loud from invisible speakers or something. It's like the space has been transformed into some kind of massive rave all of a sudden.

And then, out of the midst of all of this madness... emerges Jensen.

You  _cannot even_  at the sight of what he's wearing. He is literally decked out like a fucking king. Head to toe, in rich royal blue robes, with sumptuous silvery-white trim, topped with a glowing crown and draped with golden bling.  _Is this actually happening?_

You have no clue where the hell he got this insane costume. But all that matters now is that he is here in this room. Even in the presence of an archangel, a demon, and three other ridiculously powerful humans... in this moment it's impossible to deny that this place has become Jensen's kingdom.

_All hail the king_ , you think as he arrives on the scene. Jensen has made it crystal clear just what his name should be, the title for the sixth, final version of Dean. He puts both the king  _and_ the dom in kingdom. And his kingdom is gonna fucking  _come_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was soooooo much fun :D
> 
> I hope you guys liked it! Always grateful for kudos and comments if so, thanks everyone :) <3


	13. Who Do You Serve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that all six versions of Dean have been introduced... and given their rightful dom titles... they can all start ganging up on you ;)
> 
> As a heads up, this chapter doesn't yet feature any actual penetration (well, other than with Holster's gun) — the Deans do love to torture and tease — but still, I think this scene feels pretty gang-bangy... hopefully you'll agree!

 

"What the actual  _fuck_?" your fiancé is the first to speak up, in reaction to Jensen's extravagant entrance.

Jensen frowns and glares scornfully down at him, bellowing over the loud music that's still playing. "That's no way to greet a king, you flannel-clad peasant."

"Um—isn't this a bit much, dude?" Holster chimes in, gesturing at the tacky costume and the lights flashing throughout the room. "Would you at least turn down the volume?"

The king smirks, and the invisible speakers instantly switch to the next tune: 'Turn Down For What' blasting right on cue.

You can hear the angel grumble where he's standing over you. "This is  _music_ to you humans? Utter noise pollution..."

"I mean, come on, Jen—did you really feel the need to cause such a scene?" Mr. Smith asks the king. "Seem to be royally overcompensating, if you ask me..."

Before Jensen can answer, Michael raises up his fist and snaps his fingers—and, just like that, the rave is over: the music shut off, the bunker's standard lighting restored.

The demon snickers. "Well, your motherfucking Majesty... guess you're not so high and mighty anymore."

"Oh, don't be so sure," Jensen retorts, proudly squaring his shoulders. "We all have our powers in this world. Our own special ways to dominate our dirty little girl... satisfy all her desires..."

His emerald eyes are on you now, winking at you from beneath his shining crown.

Then he turns toward Michael, not daunted in the slightest by the archangel's show of celestial prowess. "So before you get all smug about your supernatural powers, just remember:  _she_ wanted the lights and the music to end. Right that instant. That's the only reason your heavenly snap even worked."

He is right, of course. Though you had enjoyed Jensen's grand entrance—presenting him as the celebrity host of a huge festival of debauchery, like King Bacchus at Mardi Gras or something—you had wanted the rave to stop, that very second. The beats and the brightness had drowned out the voices and visions of Dean. Now that it's been shut down, you can hear and see each version of him much more clearly.

All the same, the angel will not stand for such an insult from a human; he fumes at the king, eyes flaring blue. "You would  _dare_ talk down at  _me_ , you mortal scum...?"

"Why don't we save that kind of talk for our filthy slave, hm?" Jensen calmly suggests. "Much more fun than us taking cheap shots at each other. We all know that this bitch is the one who deserves to be punished and tortured. That is the only rule in this kingdom."

_Ugh, God—no king has ever been so fucking hot_ , you think, soaking wet with arousal.

"Mmm," the demon hums as he looks down at you, seeing you squirm in pleasure at the king's sadistic words. "Well, I think we can all play by that rule..."

"Damn fucking right," Jensen replies. Standing tall at the front of the room, he extends his arms out to the side, an imperial signal of power and pride. "Now crawl over to kneel before your king, bitch. You gonna be a good girl for me tonight? My dirty little princess?"

_Fuck yes._  You gape up at him in reverent silence, not sure if he wants you to speak yet...

The true Dean decides it; from where he stands next to you now, he reaches to yank a fistful of your hair in his firm, ruthless grip. "Answer him, you dumb piece of shit."

"Y-yes," you profess to His Highness, trembling and breathless. "Yes, my king."

Jensen's hands have dropped down to his hips. You watch as he snickers and flicks his tongue over his luscious pink lips. "So fucking pathetic. Why aren't you kneeling at my feet yet, cunt? Shouldn't you know that's where your filthy face belongs?"

With your hair still gripped in your fiancé's fist, you try to nod your head but can't quite manage. You're dying to worship at those royal feet but know you'll have to earn the privilege. "Yes, my king, I—I know it..."

His Majesty has no patience for cheap words and bullshit. "Then show it."

Suddenly acting in perfect sync, the other versions of your lover, towering around you where you're kneeling, throw you over toward your king. You shudder in bliss from the feeling of them ganging up to manhandle you like this—a blur of rough hands on your head and neck and shoulders, boots and shoes against your back, casting and crashing you down to the floor,  _hard_ , like a worthless whore, the piece of trash you are... along with the sound of their dominant growls and degrading laughter... until wishing upon the pearl, arriving in this world, you never would've dreamed you could experience such soul-shattering pleasure.

As you struggle to gain your balance, the demon deals a sharp kick to your ass. Your cheeks are still exposed, with just the thong wedged in your crack, ever since Daddy had started ripping off your pants. You shudder and gasp, both from the shock of the impact and the euphoric jolt of pain you get from the attack.

"Oh, she fucking  _likes_ that," the boss laughs, repeating the demon's act. "Dirty fucking slut. She sure moves slow for something so desperate..."

Chief reaches down then without warning, yanks your thong out of its place and shoves his loaded gun inside your ass. "Yeah, maybe this'll get the bitch to move fast."

_Hoooly shit_ —everything they are doing is pure fucking heaven. Spurred on by their actions and words, and eager as ever to reach your supreme ruler, you try frantically to pull yourself together. The pistol slips out of your hole as you hurry across the floor, which was unavoidable, given what a clumsy mess you've become.

"Worthless scum," the angel sneers down at you, reaching to pick up the gun, push it deeper back in. "Dropping shit on the floor like that. You better keep this goddamned weapon in that dirty little ass. Or else... or  _else_..."

Your master doesn't have to finish that sentence, for you to sense the full extent of what he means to threaten. The worst possible form of punishment. So you do your fucking best. Suffering through more verbal and physical abuse from them with every desperate step. And somehow, thankfully, the barrel is still crammed in your crack by the time you've reached Jensen's feet, facedown on the ground, with your gun-stuffed ass high in the air as you arch your back. Not daring to gaze at your king's gorgeous face, knowing how unworthy you are of such glorious grace. You won't dare do a thing till he says.

"That's a good little princess," he praises, the twisted words sending a shiver of bliss down your spine, causing you to instinctively shake your upraised behind. "Yeah, that's it. Worship the ground that I walk on and wag that sweet ass... shit, just look at that pistol so deep in your tight fucking hole. Bet you wish you could service these royal feet, hm? Wanna give 'em a kiss?"

"Yes, m-my king..." you gasp in abject desperation, the grimy floor beneath you muffling your lips. " _Please_  let—let me kiss them.... Your Highness..."

"Hmm," he hums, shifting to rub one of his majestic boots over the side of your lowered face, scraping your cheek in a sadistic tease. "Wouldn't that be a sweet privilege. You ought to know you don't deserve that, bitch."

Biting your tongue, you fight the urge to turn your head, to kiss the shoe that's so wickedly tempting you. "Yes, I know, my king—I don't... I don't deserve anything..."

"Up on your knees, then," he commands all of a sudden. "Gaze upon your king. Let me look at my pathetic little plaything."

"Yes, Your Highness," you pant as you hoist yourself up into kneeling position, clasping your hands behind your back in submission, hesitating for a moment before you tilt your head to behold his perfection. Just as you had known to expect, the sheer beauty of Jensen Ackles, crowned and decked out as the king that he is, towering over you like this, strikes you speechless, stunned— _completely and utterly numb, with no control over your body or mind anymore, limp and powerless..._

A sound resounds then, unexpected, from somewhere behind your back.  _Clack_.

_Oh, fuck_ —you heard it before you even felt it. But everyone knows what it was. 

The damn gun just fell out of your ass.

The room falls into silence, for a second. There are sure as fuck gonna be consequences for what just happened. And you are so ready for whatever is coming— _to get beaten, broken, bled to death, ravaged and ruined to high heaven, to hell and back, and just_... well, you're beyond ready for all that and more. But deep down, you know better. You would enjoy that too much. Because you're a painslut, a sick screwed up whore. That kind of punishment would honestly be more of a reward.

No; something far worse is in store.

"Well, well, well..." the king says, flawless face staring down at you in disapproval. "What the fuck was that, princess? You being a bad bitch on purpose? It's as if you  _want_  us to take you to hell."

Oh, he  _knows_  it was a fucking accident—and that looking up at his jaw-dropping beauty was what had caused it. But that's why his words, cruel and untrue, cut so brutally into you. Just as he wants them to. Just as  _you_  want them to, too.

"Yeah, we all know it's true," your fiancé chimes in, and you feel him come closer, approaching slowly from behind you, the other four forms of him following suit. "So now... what're we gonna do with you, hm? What're we gonna fucking do..."

The demon butts in next. "Well, I dunno about you ladies, but me—I've been hard for too long now. Hard as a damn rock."

"Then go and take care of your own monster cock, if you can't hold off," Holster scoffs. "This slut doesn't deserve any dick from us. Not yet."

"Yeah, but—but why do we have to stand here with our dicks wet and suffer and wait, just 'cause  _she_  hasn't earned what she craves?" the boss says. "We should get off whenever the fuck we want. What  _we_  want, we should take. What if we..."

The king finishes that thought for him. "Whip out all our cocks and just jack off right over her fucking face," he states, demolishing you with the heat of his words and his gaze. "And don't let her touch. Let alone taste. Make her kneel down beneath us and watch. Beg for what she so desperately wants.  _She_ 's the one who should suffer and wait."

_Holy mother of fuck_ —your entire body starts to shudder and quake.  _This is too much to take..._

"Is that what you want?" the archangel taunts, close enough now that you can meet his glowing gaze. "Tell us, you good-for-nothing slave."

You gulp down the drool that has gathered all over your mouth, a pool of it, enough to fucking drown. Every version of him is motherfucking mouthwatering. You're barely able to control the stupid, stuttering stream of words spilling out. "I... yes, Master, I want... whatever you—what all of... you—want..."

"What's that?" your fiancé snaps, leaning from behind you where he stands now, to spit straight in your gaping mouth. "Can't understand you, dumb fucking cunt."

They all know that you want nothing but what  _they_ want. But torturing you like this, mocking you about it, is so fucking fun. You thank Dean for his spit, then try and fail to manage a response. Reminding yourself to call each version of him by his rightful title, each and every one. "Th-thank you, sir... I want..."

"Ugh, I wish I could just shut her the fuck  _up_ ," the demon grunts, standing to one side of you, groping his massive meat through his pants. "Would you like that, slut? Babygirl wanna suck on this big bad cock?"

" _Yes_ , Daddy!" you shriek, wriggling with need down on your knees. "D-daddy please..."

From the other side of where you kneel, you hear a vicious snicker from Chief. "Stupid whore. Think you deserve to get that dirty face fucked, after dropping that gun on the floor? No; your sweet reward ain't gonna come so damn easy."

You bite your lip so hard that you can feel it bleed. "I know, Chief, I've... I've been a bad little bitch, I'm—so sorry..."

" _God_ , babygirl," the demon butts back in, the feral growl in his voice making your toes curl. Especially as you see his thick fingers reach for his dark leather belt, then his zipper... "That gets Daddy so fucking hard—hearing you talk like that... go on. Tell us all what you are."

"I'm a bad little bitch," you repeat for him, eager as ever to say it, getting off on how deeply you know and embrace it. Your stutter is gone for a second; these words come to you more naturally than anything. "I'm a filthy fucking piece of shit."

"Mmm, yeah that's it..." Mr. Smith cuts in, baring his teeth with an intake of breath, a sharp hiss. You watch as his clean-cut, professional hands move to start unfastening his pants...

You continue—it's all you can do, all you fucking want to. "I am trash. I am worthless. Pleasing and serving and worshiping you is my life's only purpose."

"Ugh,  _yes_..." Jensen sighs, reaching in his robes to grab his cock, too, where he's standing right in front of you. "Know your place, princess. Just a dirty little fucktoy princess."

_God, that sounds so ridiculously hot when he says it._ You quiver in bliss. "Yes—thank you, my king... Your Highness..."

"Who do you serve," the most beloved voice from behind you chimes in then, not bothering to lift into a question, and— _oh shit_ —tilting your head back the slightest bit, you're pretty sure that you can glimpse the tip of...  _of his..._

The true Dean isn't about to let you look at it, just yet—he grabs a handful of your hair in his strong fist and jerks your neck, shoving your head slightly forward again, away from him. Your fiancé's cock may have been taken out first, but that doesn't mean you get to see it. That's much more than you deserve.

Not having received a response, he repeats his words. "Who do you serve."

"You, sir," you whimper.

Dean deals a sharp smack to your cheek. "Wrong answer."

He knows what you meant, but it feels so goddamn  _good_  to be punished as if he doesn't. You focus for an second on the sting that his slap leaves upon your skin, the explosive, exquisite sensation. "I'm sorry, sir, I meant—I meant  _all_  of you, sir..."

"That's better," he rasps, dealing the other cheek a rough slap, for good measure. 

Then he suddenly clamps his hand over your eyes, twining his fingers tighter in your hair, pulling your skull back, straining your neck till your head is angled painfully upward, straight up at the sky, while he smothers you blind, unable to see his beloved meat as it hovers over your face from behind.

"When I let you open your eyes," he growls down at you, the gravelly sound of his voice so damn hot you could die, "do you know what you're gonna see, bitch? Take a wild guess."

_Cock._ The reply resounds right away in your mind. You are going to see all of their big, huge, rock hard, fucking beautiful  _perfect_  cocks.Though you open your mouth to say it, somehow you've fallen speechless, driven to madness by the thought. _It's just too fucking hot..._

Holster lets out a snicker as your hear him work his zipper. "Stupid slut can't even talk."

You then hear a low laugh from the Boss. "Yeah, that's how bad she wants all this cock."

" _Fuck_...!" you gasp, the one word escaping you then as that utterance of  _cock_  cuts straight to your dripping wet cunt.

"Such a damn dirty mouth on you, slave," the archangel says—and without seeing, you can sense the power of his heavenly meat, his holy grail, as it's unveiled. "I'd bet that filthy throat wants to swallow us all, have each one of us fuck your pathetic whore face. Drink the seed of every form of your beloved Dean, not let a drop go to waste, getting off on the sweet fucking taste. But you know that good things...  _come_  to bitches who wait."

_Holy—holy... fucking... shit..._ Being blinded by your lover like this heightens and sharpens all of your other senses, and everything that you are hearing and feeling and smelling right now is just... just  _beyond_  perfect. You can barely even think, let alone say anything.

The moment that all six versions of Dean are  _finally_  fully unleashed, you can just fucking tell. The air around you feels charged with the pure, powerful presence of them all: the four men, the demon and the angel, the force of all the earth, the forge of heaven and the fires of hell.

Time stands still. Your one true Dean knows that, after being plunged into pitch darkness like this for a few torturous seconds, the sight you are soon to behold will be that much more painfully, perfectly beautiful.  _He knows you so fucking well..._

And you love him for it, more than ever before.  _So_  damn much. 

His hand drops away from your face as he says it. "Open your eyes, bitch."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this, and that you're excited for what's *coming* next!! ;)
> 
> Always grateful for kudos and comments <3


	14. What You Live For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear Deanbitches!! I know I haven't been updating my fics as often lately, and I'm really sorry about that :( I haven't had as much time to write recently, but believe me, I wish I could spend all my time doing this and I'll keep on posting as often as I can :)
> 
> Here's the next installment, with even more teasing and torture and pain and punishment... 'cause when it comes to Dean, I think we're all sluts for that kind of thing ;P

 

"I said," Dean growls down at you where you're kneeling, beneath all these versions of him, too blissed out to be able to do anything—the heat of the moment has you paralyzed. So he has to repeat his command. For some added impact, he smacks your cheek hard with the back of his hand. " _Open your fucking eyes_."

From the jolt of that blow, your dazed eyes flutter open on instinct. With your battered head lolling loosely from your neck, you struggle to adjust for a few seconds, vision swimming with stars, recovering from the recent dark with a few spastic blinks.

"Dumb piece of shit," the demon snarls. Staring down at his shoes standing beside you, you can feel his black gaze burning holes through your skull. "Look up. Look at us. Think you can handle it?"

 _Oh God, no—definitely not_. At the sight of all those great, big, gorgeous cocks, you're pretty sure you'll be struck dead. But you have to do what Daddy just demanded. With an unsteady breath, you begin to straighten and lift up your head...

"Hold up," Holster cuts in all of a sudden. "Not yet."

The angel has the same thought, as the motion of your head comes to a stop. "Let's make her beg."

So does the boss. "Ugh, yes. Get our fucktoy all needy and wet."

"Mmm. Already is, but we can get her...  _so_  much fucking wetter. Bet she'd like that," King Jensen says. "Wouldn't you, princess."

" _Yes_ ," you gasp, shaking and breathless. "Yes, Your Highness."

The true Dean strokes your flushed cheek in a sinister caress. "Now why don't you shine the king's shoes," he croons, "while we all jack off over you. Make you beg for the privilege of watching us."

Sighing in bliss, you instantly bend your head toward Jensen's feet as you answer your lover. "Yes, sir..."

But Dean grabs a fistful of your hair and jerks you back upward, before you can descend any lower. "Did I tell you to use that filthy mouth of yours?" he rasps as you stare down in shame at the floor. "Shine 'em with your cunt, whore. Rub that soaking wet pussy all over those royal boots. Fuck yourself. Ride 'em dirty, just like you were born to do."

 _Oh, this is too fucking hot to be true._ You moan as the king grips your hair, pulls you into position, the top of your head pressing into his thigh as your crotch straddles one of his shoes. Though your jeans are bunched up at your knees, you're still wearing your thong—but the fabric is so thin that all of your juices are seeping right through.

It would be much better and  _wetter_  without it, though. Mr. Smith knows. From beside you, he reaches his hand down to rip it off, hard and rough. "Let's get this damn thong off you."

He's a motherfucking tease—so before shredding it to pieces with his bare hands, Boss makes sure to twist the fabric, while the string is still wedged in your crack, the sticky cloth stretching and scraping up against your aching clit, your slutty ass. It's obscene the way it makes you scream, how much you fucking like that. When he finally tears it off, the sheer force of the motion makes it feel as if your ass has just been torn in half. You scream again, louder, shuddering in shameless pleasure; all six men towering above you watch and laugh.

Done playing with his guns, at least for now, Chief leans in to deal one of your cheeks a brutal slap. You feel a thick wad of his spit land at the small of your back, dripping down your crack. Then Daddy's leather belt joins in on the attack, lashing against your tender skin with a sharp snap. Soon all of them are getting in on the action: belts and hands and heavy boots kicking your ass, some of the contact landing on your soaking cunt, as your rear end impulsively thrusts out and backward, eager for more, arching your back. At some point, Boss violently pulls off your rumpled pants, fully exposing your lower half. Then he claws at your top and your bra—in a flash, they are also torn off. All the while, as all six of your doms abuse you good and rough, you make sure to keep your head bowed down, obediently facing the ground. 

Just as your fiancé had known he would, Mr. Smith strips you in a way that no other version of Dean could, the hottest fucking way: with fresh eyes, with the fierceness of a man who's never used you as his whore before, one who had never even met you till today. And at the sight of you stark naked, more vulnerable than ever in your role as their submissive little pet... all six of them seem even  _more_  dominant, even more wildly aroused. There's a whole new level of big dick energy radiating throughout the room now, ramping up the aggression and intensity of their actions, raging behind their feral groans and growls. It turns you on like crazy knowing that the sight of your body has such a powerful effect on every perfect form of Dean.  _You only wish that you could see..._

"You like that, baby?" the true Dean teases, reaching from behind to brush his forefinger across your blushing cheek. Your skin prickles at his soft touch and his utterance of  _baby_ —your beloved betrothed knows that calling you by an affectionate term, in this moment, will make his next words more deliciously dirty. "You like the way this big strong stranger ripped your fucking clothes off? Does that turn you on, getting stripped by the Boss? While all of us watch? Mmm, you oughta know how damn hard I am, letting all these men use up my sweet little bitch. You like the way I whore you out, huh?" 

"Mmmphh _fuck_ —unghh— _God_..." is all you manage in response. It feels physically impossible to talk, after having heard something so hot. You're not sure anymore if you even know English or not.

"What's that, slut?" Holster savagely taunts. 

Michael huffs out a low, mocking laugh. "You sound so goddamned  _desperate_."

"Use your words, babygirl," the demon purrs. "Don't just wag that filthy tongue like a pathetic fucking idiot."

"Mmm, I think our little pet forgot her words. And her manners," Jensen says, tightening his grip in your hair, his royal hold over your head. "What're you supposed to call him, hm? Your one true love. The man you were trying and  _failing_  to answer."

" _Srmphh_ —" you splutter as the king's other hand shifts toward your open mouth, scraping your sloppy tongue with his fingers, as if to pry out the painfully obvious word. "S-sir..."

"Took you long enough, whore," the true Dean grunts, kicking the toe of his boot into your naked cunt, making you whimper and quiver and leak like a faucet all over the floor. You're not even ashamed that the humiliation of the act, the  _perfect_  way it hurt, had made you fucking squirt.

" _God_ , just look at her..." Mr. Smith mutters. The raw arousal in his voice, as he discovers all the ways that you love being used like a whore, turns you on even more.

"Yeah, bitch. Just look at you," the demon ominously coos. "Weren't you supposed to use that fucking cunt to shine the king's shoes?"

"Oh, she doesn't deserve to," Jensen declares, suddenly plunging four fingers down your throat, making you choke, while the fingers of his other hand tug harder on your hair, keeping your head facing down toward the ground and aggressively holding it there. "Princess doesn't get that privilege. Not when she's already wasted all that pussy juice."

 _Fuck_ —it's so tragically true. Gagging on the delicious domination of his hand, you cower in shame for having forgotten, for having failed to follow that simple command. Mere moments ago, you had been in position, kneeling before His Highness, straddling his boot and all set to rub your wet pussy all over it. But your position had shifted more than just a little bit, after having been stripped, lost in the sheer bliss of being manhandled and treated like shit. Your body is now spread out behind you, while the king maintains control over your face. Your bare ass and slick cunt are on full display as you keep your back arched to receive the continuous torture you crave.

"Damn straight," the boss says, echoing Jensen's comment about all the juice that had spastically gushed from your cunt. "Such a waste..."

"Sorry excuse for a slave," the archangel disgustedly scoffs. It feels like he's peeling your skin off, just with the pure heat of his burning blue gaze. "Get your worthless face on the floor where it belongs. Clean the mess you've made."

In sync with the angel's words, the king slips his hand out of your mouth and shoves your head away from him; you scramble to get in position, swiveling your body till you're facedown over the pool of your own squirt, eager to obey each order better, harder, faster. "Yes, Master..."

"That's it, slut," Holster growls, stepping on the back of your skull as you smash your face into the puddle. "Lick it all up. Every damn drop. Wanna hear you fucking slurp."

The demon cuts in before you can even respond to Chief. "Mmm. Love taking dirty orders, don't you, babygirl. Doing your job. Using that mouth like it's a fucking mop," he purrs as he watches you slobber all over the floor.

"Yes, Daddy!" you moan, sucking up more of your squirt, squealing with pleasure and need as the toe of his boot pushes into your hollowed cheek. You want to kiss it. So badly. Almost as badly as you want to turn your head up toward where all six of these gorgeous gods must be jerking their cocks, a sight too perfect not to see. "P-please..."

"Please  _what_ , you filthy fucking whore," the true Dean dominantly sneers, getting off on watching you suffer, face soaked in your own pussy juice and spit and tears. "Want us all to make a mess, too? Should we come on the floor? Or all over you?"

" _Fuuuuuuck_!" you scream on the instant.

From where he now stands behind you, Jensen's royal hand reaches down to deal a rough slap to your soaking cunt. "Can't hear you, princess," he ruthlessly taunts. 

You're screaming even louder now, no doubt dripping all over him. "I— _unngghhhh_..."

The polished leather belt that lands upon your skin right in this moment is a new sensation: it's the Boss's, not the demon's. Daddy's whip is a familiar feeling, but not this one. Mr. Smith wields it just as well against your aching ass, with all the sadistic impact, and a hundred times the class. Just as you had always imagined. His ice-cold, high-powered voice utters demanding words between each vicious lash. "Answer..."  _crack_ , "...the fucking..."  _crack_ ,"...question."

 _Hoooly shit—you seriously fucking can't..._ your body and brain have been blown to pieces, from the heavenly effects of all of this, every unholy thing that's happening...

The holy archangel is not pleased with his dirty little plaything. "Stupid cunt can't even speak. I say it's time for the real torture to begin," Michael says, luminous gaze continuing to blaze as if it's peeling every layer of your skin. "We all know what she wants; her body has been begging for it, even when her filthy mouth can't. Now let's see if she can take her punishment."

You know exactly what he means, and so do all the other forms of Dean. All six of them are in agreement—which doesn't happen often, but surely they're all raging hard at the moment, eager to seek release at your expense. Chief's foot lifts off of your head, Boss puts away his belt, and your beloved fiancé reaches down to pull your skull up off the ground, clumps of your damp messy hair coiled around his calloused hands.

"Get up on your fucking knees, whore," he commands, his fists keeping your face angled downward as you rush to follow his orders, your clumsy limbs sliding and struggling all over the slippery floor. "Then look up and watch. You don't get to taste. Or even touch. You're not even worthy of worshiping cock. Just sit there like a bitch and wait, and beg us for the come you want so much. All over your pathetic face. The come you fucking live for."

 _Oh God—every word out of Dean's luscious mouth makes you fall in love with him just that much more..._  You've never felt more alive than when you're dying from his torture, from such painfully perfect pleasure. No matter what happens, ever—no matter how many versions of him the dirty whore inside you may desire—he still will always be your one and only, forever. Your one true Dean Winchester. The man, the god, who owns you, every piece and every part: your body and your soul, and above all, your beating heart. It beats for only him, and it beats  _hard_. He is the one you fucking live for.

And in some twisted sense, here in this pearl-created world... there is no better way to prove it than for him to take that beating heart of yours and break it into pieces. By teaming up with others to degrade and dominate you all together, ganging up on you like this. Something about this fantasy just goes against the essence of your love, and his—a love so bright and blessed and beautifully  _pure_. Everything about this world is dark and damned and dirty. Yet there's purity in the discovery that this is what you need. What you and he both need.

Your heart was born to beat for Dean. He holds it in his hands, and with one word, one look, one touch—with just the way that he so flawlessly exists... he can crush it to fucking dust. That's what it's gonna feel like, when he puts you through the pain that's coming up. And even just the thought gets you off. He knows it does.

Dean is going to fucking destroy you. All these versions of him, all at once, putting you through the ultimate torture and punishment. And you're gonna love every minute.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I definitely came when I first saw that gif... it was a long time ago, but ever since then, I've been aching for the opportunity to use it in a fic — and here it is :D
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this!! Always grateful for kudos and comments <3


	15. Fucking Delicious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii Deanbitches!
> 
> So, at risk of spoilers, in terms of new kinks in this chapter: there are a lot of cumshots, with some aimed into the bitch's eyes. That's not my thing at all, usually (though that's true of almost every kink, for me, that I would only do it for Dean)... but it just seemed to fit in this scene. So I just wanted to give a heads up — if you're not into the sound of that, it'll probably be easy to just skip around those parts, so hopefully you'll still enjoy the read :)

__

 

 _Get up on your fucking knees, whore._  As you eagerly follow your fiancé's orders, pulled upward by his dominant grip on your head, your mind runs wild with the echo of the other words he'd said:  _Then look up and watch. You don't get to taste. Or even touch... Just sit there like a bitch and wait, and beg us for the come you want so much... The come you fucking live for..._

All six forms of your lover are standing around their little slut, each with his own cock in his hand, as they tower so powerfully over you. It's maddening to even imagine the vision of such pure perfection; it must be too hot to be true. You prepare yourself to die, the instant you take in the sight.

But then, as you finally look up and open your eyes... yeah, a part of you dies. Yet you've honestly never felt more alive.

Your one true Dean is at the forefront, as he should be. Clutched in his fist, hovering inches from your lips, is the one true cock you know and love so well: that perfect tint of pink, from base to tip, leaking his luscious juices, long and strong and thick, so human and so heart-crushingly beautiful. You could seriously stare at it forever—right now, none of the others even matter.

They do, though, as both of you know. Because in this world, there are six other versions of Dean Fucking Winchester. All of whom exist to be worshiped and served.

Dean licks his lips and flashes you a wicked smirk. With his left hand still twined in your hair, he jerks your head backward, angled away from him so that you're forced to look at all the others. And  _oh God_ , you could never have prepared yourself for anything so hot. Your eyes go wide, trying and failing to process the sight, to soak in everything at once. 

To one side of you are the Chief and the Boss: you shudder in bliss at the familiar vision of Holster's dick—his fiercest and most formidable weapon, dangerously virile and violent, so much deadlier than any of his guns... and the pristine, professional manhood of Mr. Smith—the core of his corporate power, one that looks like it was made to dish out discipline on dirty little cunts. 

To the other side are the angel and the demon, both far larger than the humans. You can't help but moan with need as you lay eyes on Daddy's massive meat, every inch of it throbbing with devilish heat—the monster cock that's given you so many epic fucks and always brings you to your knees. And as for Michael—well, your master's celestial staff... it looks big enough and strong enough to tear the whole damn world in half. The erection of this high and mighty archangel, in his perfect vessel, has given new meaning to the very concept of heaven.

Behind you is your king. Jensen's royal scepter juts out from beneath his robes, the heavy girth of it gripped proudly in his hand, with the confidence of a man who knows he's got the fairest cock in all the land. All six versions are equally beautiful, to be honest—except for your fiancé's, which in your heart will always hold the truest place—but the king's dick is the prettiest. Sure, it has stiff competition from Mr. Smith, who keeps his most prized possession freshly groomed and polished.  _Very_ stiff competition, in more ways than one. But Jensen... although he's no less masculine than any other version, there is just something ineffably pretty about him. It's as if every inch of him was made to be on camera, crafted to picture-perfection. And his penis is definitely no exception.

 _Speaking of the camera_ —you're well aware that it's still rolling. Always has been. It thrills you to think of all the sinful scenes that it's been capturing...

A few seconds have gone by, as you gawk in awe at the six different forms of the love of your life, the six different yet equally delicious-looking dicks that have you hypnotized. Your true love is the one who breaks the silence. "Like what you see, bitch?" he teases, reminding you of his recent orders. "Shouldn't you be fucking begging for us?"

As you struggle to pull words together, you feel a pitiful glob of drool fall from your lips. "Y-yes, sir! Yes..."

"Then  _beg_ , you greedy little cunt," Dean says, roughly releasing your head, snickering as your skull lolls around for half a second till the king catches it from behind instead. "Go on. Tell us what you want."

This torture is fucking killing you, but you never want it to stop. Your breathing keeps faltering as you attempt to respond. "I... I want..."

The demon, as ever, is very impatient. "She wants cock.  _All_  this cock," he grunts, not above stating the obvious. He squeezes his massive dick tight in his fist and brings the wet tip closer to your lips, making your pussy drip. "Wanna start with just one? Hm? You know Daddy can't wait to fill that filthy fucking mouth up..."

"Not yet," the angel interrupts. "Our pathetic pet doesn't deserve that. She has to watch and beg for what she wants. That is her punishment."

"Ugh, I know," the black-eyed beast groans. His huge cock is still hovering painfully close. "You hear that, babygirl? It's all your fault that I can't shove this demon dick deep in your throat."

You bite your lip and fight the urge to lick the precome off his tip. "I—I'm sorry, Daddy..."

"Yeah, you better be," the Boss cuts in. "Still haven't even started begging for us. Naughty little slut."

Chief speaks up before you can say anything. "You need another gun against your head? Something to get you fucking motivated?"

All you can think is— _from his gorgeous lips, with that holster full of weapons strapped around his leg, and his most lethal weapon whipped out of his jeans and raging hard within his fist..._ those words sounded more like a promise than a threat.

"No; that would just get her wet. Even wetter than she is. She hasn't earned that," Jensen states, denying you the gun that you crave, abruptly letting go of your head. "Now stay up on your knees and keep that stupid head straight. While we all jack off over your face. Think you can handle that, princess?"

 _Shit_ —keeping any level of control over your trembling limbs is a struggle. You know you can't afford to disobey, though. "Yes, Your Highness..."

"That's a good little bitch," the true Dean praises, waving the glistening head of his dick right in front of your lips, like the prize that it is, one that you don't deserve yet. "Now  _beg_."

It's all you can do, with this tempting piece of meat hanging in front of you. Finally, powerless to do anything else, you follow your goddamn orders. "May... may I please have your cock, sir?"

He sneers down at you like the scum you are. "What do you think, you dumb fucking whore? Have you earned it?"

You shake your head, desperate and full of self-hatred. "I know I haven't, sir, but it's...  _so_  fucking perfect..."

Of course, Dean denies you that gift, but he bends down and blesses your tongue with a shot of his spit. "Yeah, you live for this dick. But you ain't getting it. Not from me, slut."

"Now beg the rest of us," the king commands from where he stands behind your head.

Tilting your face backward a bit, glimpsing his majestic manhood as you meet his glorious green gaze, you hasten to obey. "P-please, Your Highness..."

He spits on your forehead. "Please  _what_."

"Please...  _please_  let me serve your cock..." you hopelessly implore.

"Oh, this is just pathetic," the boss snorts. "You're gonna have to do a lot better than that, whore."

Each word from every one of them stings; you love the way it hurts, even when you're not sure you can take any more. "I'm sorry, Boss—"

Mr. Smith puckers his pink lips and spits right in one of your eyes. "No you're fucking  _not_."

From the other side, the demon huffs a heartless laugh, then leans in to spit into your other eye, leaving you blind. "Now the bitch can't even see us jerking off."

"Suits her well," Michael scoffs. "It's not as if our slave needs any of her senses. Nothing but a subhuman plaything after all..."

Holster joins in on the savage symphony of laughter. "Damn right. You like that, slut? The way we use you and abuse you like a fucking rag doll?"

" _Yes_ , Chief...!" you desperately shriek.

"Ughh, fuck yes, you know just what you are... gets me so goddamn  _hard_..." the demon snarls.

"Mmm, you hear that, cunt?" your fiancé viciously taunts. "You're gonna make him come. Gonna make  _all_  of us come. All six of us, getting off on torturing our little fucktoy slut. While you just kneel there knowing you're a worthless piece of scum."

 _Holy fuck_ —the true Dean always knows how to torture you best, better than all the rest. Make your beating heart burst from your chest. It feels like the wetness of your own arousal is one and the same with the blood in your veins, gushing straight to your brain, and you're getting so high on the rush. "Oh my  _Goddd_ , sir, I love you so much..."

"Know you do, bitch," he hisses, the rasp of his voice pairing sinfully well with the slick, sloshing sound of him stroking his dick, the whole precome-soaked length of it sheathed in his fist. "You ready for this? For us?"

With a series of fluttering blinks, you've finally begun clearing your vision from the boss's and the demon's spit.  _Thank fucking goodness_. You know you'll need clear sight, for what's coming next. Coming soon, hard and fast. "Yes, sir...  _yes_..."

Jensen lets out a low growl from behind your head. "Gotta beg, princess."

You do as told, immediately. "Please, my king— _please_ come all over me..."

"You want our come? Where do you want it, slut?" Mr. Smith mockingly asks, as if you have a choice in this.

Though you know you don't, you answer nonetheless. "In my mouth. Down my dirty whore throat.  _Please_ , Boss, I want—fucking  _need_..."

"The little dog never learns, does she?" the archangel coldly observes. "Keeps on pleading for all that she doesn't deserve..."

"Please forgive me, Master..." your voice slips past your lips in a choked whimper.

"Shut the  _fuck_  up, you piece of shit whore," the true Dean snaps, suddenly grabbing your throat, clenching tight till you splutter and gasp. "Shut that filthy mouth of yours. 'Cause we're gonna come where  _we_ want. You got that? Good-for-nothing cunt."

On the instant, you seal your lips and bite your tongue, bobbing your head in a submissive nod.

"And you know I wanted to shoot my load down that throat, babygirl," the demon reminds you, pumping his dick right over right over your wide open eyeball, the eye into which he'd so recently spit. "But now that you've been such a bad little bitch, guess I'll just have to come somewhere else, huh..."

 _Oh God_ , you think to yourself silently— _no, please_... though you love the idea of the deed, so demeaning and twisted and kinky—if the demon comes first, you cannot bear the thought, then, of not being able to watch all the other five versions of Dean...  _that would just be..._

"Do it," the true Dean tells the demon, reading your mind just as well as he's always done. "She's fucking terrified, at that, the thought of you coming right in her eye. So that's what she's gonna get. Bitch should just feel lucky that she'll still have one eye to see."

And that's all the encouragement that Daddy needs. For so long now, already, his arousal has been bursting at the seams... and you can  _feel_  it, all that pent up demon energy, as he finally finds his release. Can feel it in the way the thick white fluid shoots out forcefully and hits its target, spurting straight into your eye, soaking the socket, striking you half-blind, and... well, you hadn't quite expected it to feel so damn divine. You had thought that your instinct would be to close your eye, on impact. Yet on the contrary, your instinct is to keep it open wide, because you're getting off on the way that his come is drenching and drowning half your sight, on the degradation of this deviant act.

There's so damn much of it; the demon always drops a motherfucking massive load, and this time is no different. Having flooded its target, his come begins splashing and spilling over this whole side of your face, your brow and your cheek all deliciously glazed. None reaches your lips, though—which is a good thing, because if it did, you're not sure if your tongue could resist flicking out for a taste.

Everything that happens next comes fast. Too fast. The demon's climax seems to have set off some great big chain reaction. Before you know it, Jensen's kingdom has come all over your forehead—so far from your mouth, which is still tightly shut, and yet it feels so sweet and creamy you can almost fucking taste it. Holster decides that he wants to aim at your tits—he shifts, positioning himself so his violent cock explodes rope after rope of come all over your naked chest, hot and sticky as it dribbles down your nipples, which is seriously a whole other level of bliss. Not to be outdone, the angel aims further downward on your body, right at your dripping wet cunt—even more so than the demon, his superhuman cock has a hell of a lot to give, coating not only your crotch but also the skin of your thighs and your hips in the absolute essence of heaven. As you might've known to expect, the Boss targets your other eye next—mirroring the demon, Mr. Smith's high-powered come is all set to overflow the opposite side of your face, aiming for the eye into which he had spit himself. You could cry at the fact that you'll be rendered totally blind by the act, unable to see your beloved true Dean reach his climax... but at least you've been able to witness the rest, so for that you feel blessed. Honestly, you know you have no right to feel anything less.

And when the time finally comes for  _him_  to come, your one true love— _the only version of Dean Winchester who really truly matters_... it's just the fucking  _best_. Everything else was worth it, all of it, because of what he says.

The one thing sweeter than to see him come, all over your fucking face... is to taste. Though you know that you don't deserve him, never have and never will—that you're not worthy of the sacred seed he spills—still, every undeserved gift that he gives is a reason to live. 

And Dean knows it, when he says it. "Open up, bitch."

He means your mouth; it's obvious, given that every other part of your body, and all your heart and soul, have been wide open for him already. Always have and always will be. You drop your jaw instantly, dying alive as he presses the wet, throbbing tip of his dick against your lower lip.

"Fucking love you," he murmurs the moment before he explodes down your throat—the words sort of just slipped. Through everything that has happened, you know your fiancé has felt it, but he wasn't really supposed to express it. In this kinky fantasy world, that kind of thing just doesn't quite seem to... fit.

Yet it does, somehow, in this moment. For you, every damn thing that Dean does, in any universe, will  _always_  fit. Will always be perfect. In ways that you couldn't have even imagined, until he had said it, that utterance of love was everything you needed. Everything both of you needed. That's what your love for each other is.

And  _good God_ , you think as your throat opens up to drink every sweet drop of him...  _This love is fucking delicious._

 

__

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked this one!! :)
> 
> Always grateful for kudos and comments! Much love <3


	16. No Limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Deanbitches!!! So new kinks in this chapter are rimming/facesitting, teabagging and super intense breathplay. And the reader gets temporarily 'killed' again. (But it's like the first time — it's not really death because it wouldn't happen unless she'd get brought back to life right away and all that.) And there are references to watersports but none actually happens in this chapter yet.
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy it :D
> 
> Oh, and the gif at the beginning is supposed to be Mr. Smith — I know it isn't from that episode, but Dean is in a suit and has that whole white-collar Boss vibe going on... so I feel like it's a good fit and is easy to imagine it :)

__

 

 _So fucking delicious_. That's all you can think, drenched in the essence of six versions of your lover, drowning in the feeling of their juices dripping down your skin, savoring the flavor of every drop that the true Dean let you drink. Even more amazing than the taste and the sensation of their sweet come is the state you're in: a state of absolute submission to their dominance. Their dirty degradation. Their destruction of your being. Now more than ever, in this fantasy universe just as in any other, Dean Winchester is your whole entire world, your everything. Worshiping him like this is more than you could ever ask for, all that you have ever wished.  _So perfect. So fucking delicious_...

"Shit," you hear one of their voices. From that tone of corporate superiority and cockiness, it has to be the Boss's. "Is she even conscious?"

Here with your naked, come-covered form reduced to a damn puddle sprawled out on the floor, it's obvious why he should wonder.  _Are you dead or alive—both or neither?_ Still blinded by the load that landed in both of your eyes, you're so lost in subspace that you yourself aren't even sure anymore...

"Does it matter?" the archangel sneers. "This sack of scum is nothing but an object for our pleasure."

"Oh, the bitch is conscious. She can hear us. Every word," your fiancé assures the others. "And it matters because we want her to  _feel_ the fucking burn, of everything that happens. Every second of her punishment. Her torture."

"Damn straight," Holster says. You can practically hear the smug grin on his face. "She enjoys it too much, though. Gets off on the pain. Such a sick little whore."

"Yeah, just look at her. She loves being our filthy fucking come-dumpster," King Jensen snickers.

You can sense the demon taking a step closer, letting out a fiendish purr. "I dunno about you fellas, but I've got a burning urge to piss all over—"

"Save it for later," the true Dean cuts in, refusing you the utter bliss of serving as a urinal for all of them. "We already soaked this slut in more than she deserves."

Chief concurs. "He's right. Besides—gotta admit, she looks damn good like this. All covered in our juices. I'm thinking she ain't ever looked prettier."

So does Mr. Smith. "Mmm, fuck yes. Let's keep her dirty for a bit. Before washing all that come off with our piss. This bitch is gonna have to earn her golden shower."

 _Ughhh—their humiliating words, the way their velvety-rough voices, each so different yet so similar, radiate such pure motherfucking power_... The vortex of subspace keeps sucking you in deeper and deeper, causing your slipping grip on sanity to spiral ever downward.

"Damn you bastards," the disgruntled demon mutters. "Fine, let's just hold in all our piss. If you fucking insist. So what the hell d'you wanna do to her?"

The heavenly host steps in then; you can feel his holy presence standing over you, his polished dress shoes planted on the floor beside your shoulder. "Well. We all know that this piece of shit doesn't deserve to exist."

 _Holy mother of Jesus_ —it feels like fucking heaven, when he talks like this...

"God Himself must be ashamed to have made something so pathetic," the archangel scoffs down at you. "Just look at how low she is. Blessed with our juices, drowning in complete bliss, barely even conscious. Yet she's still breathing. Aren't you, bitch."

Before you can even attempt to say yes, Michael steps on your neck. Crushing your vocal cords, making you choke on your unspoken words.

As your throat sputters beneath your master's foot, from behind your head you hear the sound of cruel, majestic laughter. "What's that?" the king taunts. "Can't hear you, whore."

"This worthless fucking pig doesn't deserve to speak. Or even breathe," the angel states mercilessly. "And she knows it. Don't you, slave."

He applies more pressure, cutting off your airways. It hurts so bad, being unable to answer his torturous questions, but you love the pain.

"Bet she's soaking wet. Aren't you," Holster says, standing over your body and kicking your come-splattered cunt with the toe of his boot. "Kinky little skank. Always got off on breathplay."

Michael huffs out a haughty chuckle. "All too true. And you know what, you goddamned dirty slut?" he asks as he suddenly lifts away his shoe. "Today's your lucky day."

He reaches down to grab a messy knot of your hair in his powerful fist, yanking you upward till your face is mere inches from his. Even when you struggle to blink, you still can't see a thing, through the thick white come flooding your eye sockets. In his beautiful presence, it's agonizing to be blinded like this. You're so close to him that, when he speaks, you can feel the sweet warmth of the archangel's breath ghosting over your lips. It smells like salvation and sin all at once, laced with the fancy liquor he drinks _—you want nothing but to breathe in all the holy air from his lungs, to taste it on your tongue, to suck the sacred essence of him in a passionate kiss..._

But that would be such a divine gift. You know you're not worth it. Your sorry ass doesn't deserve to breathe anything, let alone him. He reminds you anyway, with words as well as actions, making sure you know your place.

"Hmmm," he hums, melting you with the heat of his gaze. Though unable to see, you can feel the fire in his beaming blue eyes as he studies your face. "There are so many ways to make our little slave fucking suffocate. So many ways..."

While still gripping your hair in one hand, the fingers of the other trace a sinful path beneath your nose, across your lips, then clench around your throat again. Hard, but not quite hard enough to asphyxiate.

"But I think I know your favorite. And you know what the best part is?" your master abruptly lets go of your head, flinging you down so your skull crashes onto the ground with a deafening thud. "You know why it's your lucky day? Because in this world—thanks to my angelic touch, my healing powers... we can do more than just play. We can go all the fucking way." 

It's true, and the thought is so hot that you slip into half-conscious subspace all over again. Over the rush of blood to your own brain, you can hear grunts of approval and arousal from the others in the room, and sense the true Dean coming near to tower over you. Somehow, he and Michael are on the same wavelength; without words, your lover knows this is his cue. And, if you're not mistaken, it sounds like _—like he's getting naked. Fuck yes._  A thrill courses through your body as you hear him removing his jeans and his boots...

"That's right, lover boy. You know what to do," the archangel croons. "Sit on her fucking face."

 _Ohhh God yes_ , you think silently to yourself, getting off on every word your master says, and on the thought of being smothered underneath the perfect ass of your beloved fiancé. Facesitting has always been one of your favorite kinks, and Dean knows it. There's nothing more submissive and subservient than worshiping him from this low-down position.  _If you had it your way, you'd be suffocating beneath him all day every day..._

Meanwhile, Michael's dirty talk is on a fucking roll, and he's not even done. There's just something about the host of heaven spouting filth like this that feels so fucking  _wrong_ , and damn, you've never been more turned on. You can feel him watching as your one true love strips off his clothing and gets in position. "Yes, that's it. We all want to see her squirming as you crush her worthless face beneath your weight. Watch the life drain from her lungs. Go on; you know how she likes it. Ride this bitch. Get her nose up your tight hole, your sweaty sack rubbing all over her tongue."

Dean Winchester is never one to take orders, but that's not  _really_ what's going on. Not when the angel is just giving voice to exactly what Dean himself wants. His desires, which determine yours, are always at the center of this six-degree show of dominance.

It kills you that you cannot even fucking see what's happening—but you can sure as hell feel it, smell it,  _taste_ it as your fiancé stands with your head between his feet, positioned so that he's facing the rest of your body, then shifts his weight onto his knees, his muscular legs braced around your shoulders, and then, slowly... oh so slowly... sits the fuck down, smashing the back of your skull hard into the ground, using your face like his personal throne. Which it is, of course. Dean has done this kind of thing plenty of times before—but only ever when the two of you were alone. 

Whereas here, in this world, there are five other versions of him looking on, groaning and growling in pleasure, surrounding you with the sound of their savage laughter as they savor the sight of your pure subjugation... and it's the hottest, most incredible sensation you have ever fucking known.

On instinct, your jaw opens wide so that both of Dean’s heavy balls fit right inside.  _Where they belong._  Instantly, you get high on the rich, musky scent of his crotch and the strong, salty tang of his sweat on your tongue. His thumb pulls and stretches your lips further open to cram it all in, stuffing your filthy mouth full of his luscious sack till you gag. You listen to him laugh—all six of them laughing—as drool spurts and dribbles all over your chin.

"Aw, what's the matter, bitch?" Mr. Smith brutally teases. You feel a splash of wetness on your chest; he just spat on your tits, you guess. "Can't take it? Hmm? Thought this is what you wanted. Thought you fucking live for this..."

"Oh, she does," the true Dean confidently states, shifting his hips a bit, to more completely crush your face. "Just has a sorry way of showing it. 'Cause she's a stupid piece of shit."

 _God, you've never loved him more than in this moment and it's so totally twisted_. While your sloppy lips and tongue worship his balls, feeling them throb and roll around your mouth and fill it up so fucking full, your entire nose is buried all the while in his tight, pink,  _perfect_  asshole, which smells so goddamn delicious, as it always does, and it's all... just...  _too fucking much..._

"Who needs oxygen, huh?" the demon taunts, shocking you all of a sudden with the feeling of his leather belt against your dripping cunt. The lash hurts that much worse when you can't even scream  _thank you Daddy_... "Ass is the only air you need to breathe. Isn't it, slut."

You're moaning like a banshee now, desperate and loud, but the full weight of your lover's crotch of course muffles the sound, especially as he starts grinding himself even further down...

" _Ugh_ —I've heard enough. Let's shut her up," Jensen grunts in disgust, and around your neck in the next instant, you feel a firm strangling grip that you know must be his. The king is leaning down to crush your gasping throat in both his royal fists. "You like this? Yeah, we're gonna take you to the fucking edge, princess."

The next thing you feel is the barrel of Chief's gun against your chest. The cold hard tip presses between your tits, angled to aim right at your heart, threatening to blast the beating thing apart. It's so sick that you're lying here longing for one of his bullets, wanting it to rip you to pieces.  _Talk about being taken to the fucking edge..._ Holster adds on to what Jensen just said. "And push you right over it."

In the meantime, the Boss has joined in with the demon to give you a good hard whipping; the two take turns flicking their belts across every bare inch of your skin, focusing on your sensitive cunt, sometimes two belts at once. As they do, you then feel the cool sole of the archangel's shoe, stepping down on your stomach, making breathing all but impossible, even more so than it already is. "Because in this reality... just as you fucking wished..." Michael sneers down at you in a sinister hiss, "...there are— _literally_ —no limits."

Those are the last words you hear, sheer music to your ears, before the stars swimming across your vision burst up into flame and then fade suddenly to darkness, bringing you right to the brink of consciousness, the very edge of life itself... and then thrusting you violently past it. In one split second, you find you've lost all your senses, your breath, and yet somehow you still feel the climax that washes over every nerve in your body as you fall straight into the black pit of death. The true Dean has already slaughtered you once— _tempting you with the promise of one precious kiss, making you pay the ultimate price, at the edge of his knife_... so you've died for your lover before, in this world. This is not the first time. But the second is just as sublime.

And then, as swiftly as it happened... it's undone. Chief has pulled back his gun, and in its place, right over your heart, the archangel presses the tip of his forefinger into your chest, his superhuman touch restoring the air to your lungs, pouring life right back into your numb veins all over again. 

The true Dean lifts off of your face then, his balls popping out of your mouth with a slick, sloppy suctioning sound. The first thing you notice, dumbstruck and euphoric, is that you can  _see_. That your eyes are no longer blinded by a flood of cream. Traces of come still linger on your lashes, naturally, but staring up now from the floor, you can take in the sight of your beloved Dean... and the next thing you notice is the reason why you are no longer blind. It's because a whole lot of the thick pearly come that was once on your face is now smeared all across his ass cheeks, from having used your snout as his seat. It's all your fault, obviously. You're ashamed of the mess that you've made.

And of course, you're not the only one who notices. "How'd that feel, babygirl? Coming back from the dead? Bet all you want is for the love of your life to sit back down again and crush your stupid head," the demon says, before gesturing up at your lover's ass. "Ugh, look at that. You got come all over his crack."

"Of course she did. Fucking disgusting," the archangel takes his foot off of your stomach to deal a rough kick to your ribs. "Clean it up, you filthy pig."

Before you spiral back into submissive bliss, the true Dean blesses you with eye contact for one fleeting moment, from where he's standing over you, recovering from the heartfelt high that he gets on witnessing the depth of your love for him. The way that you literally love him to death. Yours is a love with no limits. And he knows it, and he loves you for it, just as much. You know he does. On Dean's end as well as yours, there are no limits to his love. With all your heart, you know it. And although it may be all kinds of fucked up, you both know that dominating and degrading you, in this world, in the dirty ways you crave... is the best way for him to show it.

So he lowers himself back down onto your face, sending you straight back to subspace. He places his perfect pink sphincter right over your worshipful lips. And as you claim his luscious asshole in a deep, desperate French kiss, the ring of muscle squeezes tight around your tongue, pulling you ever deeper in, letting you savor the dirtiest essence of him as you strive to clean out his crack, sucking out every last sweet drop of come. For you and Dean both, it is absolute bliss. " _Shit_ —yeah, that's it..." he sighs, grinding down on your mouth as your loving tongue slides even deeper inside, then pulls out to mop up the come that's been slathered all over his sweaty skin. "God yes. Lick. Lap it all up like a good little bitch."

While you ravenously keep on going at it, you can hear the wicked laugh of Mr. Smith. "Damn. She fucking loves it," he says as he brings his belt down on the stiff peaks and sensitive mounds of your breasts, beating hard enough to draw blood and leave lasting welts and bruises, getting off on punishing and torturing your tits. "Pathetic piece of shit."

"Mmm. She sure fucking is. But hey—you know what I miss, boys?" the king chimes in, squatting beside your body and ghosting one of his hands across your throat again. "Gotta say, I miss hearing dirty talk out of this princess's pretty mouth. The sweet sound of her slutty little voice..."

Holster agrees with him, teasing your soaking wet cunt with the tip of his gun. "Yeah, she's been quiet for too long. We all know she can do more than just eat ass, with that filthy fucking tongue..."

"Hmm," Michael hums, smushing one of your battered tits beneath his shoe. "It's true. You know what I think you should do? You subhuman piece of scum?"

 _Holy hell_ —you don't know, but  _damn_ do you want to...

"I think you ought to be thanking the love of your life for gracing you with such a blessing. For sitting his full weight down on your godforsaken face," the angel bluntly says. "You're already thanking his ass with those pitiful kisses. But that's not enough, is it. To show your gratitude. To prove your love."

You keep on going, knowing that nothing on earth could ever be enough...

Jensen traces his fingers along your aching vocal cords. "You heard us, whore. We want to hear that desperate little voice of yours. Go on, use your words," he orders. "Why don't you count up to a hundred fucking kisses on this ass you love so much. The shithole that you live to serve and worship. And go on and thank him, praise him, swear your love and devotion between each one."

 _That sounds like literal heaven_ , you think, rushing to obey your king on the instant, feeling gush after gush of arousal soaking up your kinky cunt. You're so blessed to be able to speak again, to freely profess the extent of your love for this man. Actions may speak louder than words— _and God knows they already have_ —but still, you do love using your words as much as you can. So you do just that. Pouring your heart out more sincerely and submissively than ever to your one true Dean. You're barely even conscious, and not sure how you're even able to speak, but you think that the next several minutes go something like this.

"Thank you, sir."  _Kiss._ "You are so perfect."  _Kiss._  "I love you."  _Kiss._ "Live to serve you."  _Kiss._ "I am nothing but your dirty little bitch."  _Kiss._ "Worshiping you is my life's purpose."  _Kiss._ "Your ass is so fucking delicious."  _Kiss._ "I love it so much."  _Kiss._ "Your beautiful shithole belongs on my filthy whore mouth."  _Kiss._  "I want my tongue to be so deep inside you it never comes out."  _Kiss._ "God, sir, I could service your asshole all day just like this."  _Kiss._ "I don't even deserve it."  _Kiss._ "I am a pathetic, worthless piece of shit."  _Kiss._ "And you are literally perfect."  _Kiss._ "Thank you sir for this privilege."  _Kiss._ "I love you." _Kiss._ "I love you so much." _Kiss. Kiss. Kiss..._

And on and fucking on. It's so obvious that your lips and tongue, and your entire goddamn being, were made for this. To swear your undying and infinite love for Dean Winchester over and over again, and to seal every vow with a passionate, worshipful kiss. You and he both are getting off on every minute...

Yet you both know that a hundred kisses isn't nearly enough, to express the full depth of your love. A love that has literally no limits.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this!!! I had a hard time finding the right gif to post at the end... then I found this one, and even though it seems somewhat innocent, I just had to use it because he's SO FUCKING ADORABLE and looks super happy in it, and the way his head is moving I can sort of imagine him face-riding :D
> 
> Anyway! Thanks for reading! Always grateful for kudos and comments <3


	17. Full Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Deanbitches!!!!!! Sooo this chapter is a little bit of a tease and I'm sorry, BUT that's because I think it's long enough to post it as is, rather than waiting till I can write more and then post a longer chapter (in which case I wouldn't be able to post till tomorrow or later). So please don't hate me too much :)
> 
> FYI this chapter is mostly inspired by the gif that's posted at the end of it (one of my new fucking favorites) :D
> 
> New kinks in this chapter: I think this might be the first scene that has a foot fetish moment with bare feet (as opposed to shoe kink). But it's really very brief, so you can probably just skip that one part if you're not into feet. And there's some bondage, but the description of the bondage is also pretty brief. I think those are the only new kinks?... Other than that, just prepare yourself for lots of domination and degradation and teasing and torturing ;)
> 
> Oh and the reader 'dies' again (I'm sorry this keeps happening?!?! I guess I really have a death-by-Dean kink...) But it's totally not graphic or anything and, of course, the reader comes right back to life super quick!
> 
> Ok enough with the warnings!!! Happy reading :D

 

You have no idea how much time has passed while you've been worshiping Dean's perfect ass. Time has become a total blur. You could literally go on like this forever, pressing your pathetic lips into his sweaty pink sphincter, so fucking sweet and hot and tight, shoving your loving tongue deep inside, singing his praises between passionate kisses as he takes your face for a ride. With each kiss, it feels like you've died, gone to heaven, then come back to life just to do it all over again.  _To love and to worship this glorious god of a man..._

Heaven comes to an end, in a second, once he's had enough, shifting off of your stupid head all of a sudden and rising to stand. The ass-worshiping slave you've become, in this instant, you can't help but panic; you reach for him, driven by animal instinct. Groaning, groping at his thighs with flailing hands. Dean Winchester's delicious ass is your entire fucking universe— _he can't just pull away from you like that... just fucking can't..._

"Ugh. Such a greedy little slut," the demon, looking on, lets out a savage laugh. "That's right, you dumb cunt. Wag those grabby hands. You still ain't getting what you want."

Just as Daddy says, all your efforts are useless. Just like your entire existence. Your fiancé kicks your hands away, his flawless feet swatting your filthy fingers off of him like you're a fucking insect. To make sure you get the message, then, he smacks one of his feet against your cheek, too rough and quick to even let you kiss it. You whimper in both pleasure and torture as Dean's foot attacks your face, then swiftly pulls away. But not before his big toe had scraped brutally over your nostrils. You aren't blessed enough to have a taste, but the sweat from his foot lingers where it hit, and you sure as hell can smell. As the mouthwatering manly scent fills your nose—so similar, and yet so different, from the sweat that you've been sucking from his asshole—your lips strive to stretch out toward the tips of his toes, or the arch of his sole... your tongue seeks just one lick of his hard, calloused heel... but, as ever, you fail.

The archangel huffs out a breathy chuckle as he witnesses your struggle. "You know, with every passing second... somehow I think this piece of scum becomes just that much more pathetic."

"Damn straight. And she knows it," Holster says, leaning down a bit to bless your worthless pussy with a hard shot of his spit. Just as with his guns, his aim is perfect: you can feel the warm, thick wetness from his mouth landing directly on your throbbing clit. "Look at this filthy cunt. She's getting off on every minute. Fucking loves being a sorry sack of shit."

It's true; you really fucking do. But what you don't love is the sight that you now notice taking place in front of you. Your fiancé, after getting bored of riding his whore's face, has now taken a few steps away—with adoring eyes from where you lie upon the floor, you watch him as he goes... and then you see him reaching for his clothes.

_Um, what—what the actual mother of fuck? Is he... is he done? With you? With everything? And even if he isn't done, what the fuck is he doing? What reason could Dean possibly have to cover up that gorgeous body with clothes? Goddamn clothes? Just... no. Hell to the fucking no._

You were supposed to have kept that thought to yourself, freaking out in silence; you haven't been given permission to speak, heaven knows. But apparently you don't. Because desperate sounds are coming out of your throat. "No, oh no—sir,  _p-please_  don't..."

"Someone shut her up," Dean commands without even looking back. "Knock her out cold. Bitch doesn't deserve to be conscious right now. Spoke without being told."

 _Oh Goddd_ —the love of your life is degrading the shit out of you, in ways your kinky inner slut had never dreamed, even in all your darkest fantasies, before arriving in this world. Turning you into the subhuman fucktoy you have always longed to be. And it feels so damn good you have to fucking scream. You're well aware, even more so after Dean's recent words, that you are not allowed to speak. But you are so aroused, right now, that you just can't hold in the sound, as it bursts out, a cry of submissive bliss right from your dirty whore mouth.

The way your fiancé shakes his head in disgust, still not even bothering to turn around, just makes you love him that much more.  _So fucking much._  And the words that he says next... they get you so wet that it feels like literally drowning to death. In the infinite depths of your love.

"Ugh, that's enough. I said someone shut the bitch up," Dean rasps at the others, knowing any one of them would gladly take these orders. "Fucking  _end_  her."

Of course, then, it's the host of heaven who steps in. Only fitting. Michael gets off on destroying things. And you're gonna get off on being one of them.

He positions the sole of his shoe right above his dumb slave's love-drunk face, pausing to savor the sight of your subjugation before bashing your head in. Eyes flashing bright blue as the archangel smiles darkly down at you. Then murmurs two wickedly heavenly words, as he follows your lover's orders. "With pleasure."

 

***************

 

When you come back to your senses—no doubt brought back to life for a third fucking time by the archangel's powers—blinking as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting... you know right away that you are in a different room. Another part of the bunker. Deep in the depths of the cellar. One that is dark and deathly and deliciously familiar. You've been down here more than a few times before, with your lover, back in the 'real' world. But none of those visits ever quite lived up to the full potential of this place. Not in the damnedest and dirtiest ways, all the ways that you've always desired. 

 _That_  is what's going to happen now, thanks to the magic pearl, here in this wish-created world. You are finally here, with the love of your life, and his five other equally dominant versions. Destined to submit to pain and punishment as you try and fail to fulfill your whole life's only purpose: their pleasure. To please and to serve and to worship them. Forever. All six forms of him. Every one.

Here in Dean Winchester's sex torture dungeon.

You're currently bound up, still barely half-conscious and mostly numb, only just vaguely aware of shackles or ropes—maybe both—binding your limbs. But your own position isn't what captures your attention. As ever, it's  _him_.

While the other five versions are all present, looking on and lurking in the shadows of the room, in this moment the true Dean is the only one you see. Clad in dark blue, with rolled up sleeves, unbuttoned down the middle to reveal a plain black tee. Hunter boots and rugged jeans. Seated behind a table, with his feet up on the surface, letting you stare in reverent silence at the rough soles of his shoes as he leans back, green eyes agleam, and watches you. Knowing your ass is worth less than the scum beneath his boots. He is just so fucking  _perfect_. It hits you every time and shakes you through and through, shocking you to your deepest core even when it feels like the only thing you ever knew. It's just so painfully, powerfully true.

His luscious lips curl up into a smirk when he finally speaks. "Look at you, bitch," he dominantly croons. "Just look at you."

There's a mirror on the ceiling, in this dungeon; you could try arching your head to take a look at your pathetic self. But you're not sure if he would want you to. Not sure if that was what Dean meant.  _And all that matters, all that will ever matter, is what he wants..._

"This is supposed to be  _your_  world. Isn't it," he goes on, tongue sparkling visibly behind his pearly teeth. "A universe built on your darkest desires. All yours. What do you think that means, whore?"

Trembling with the force of your love for him, you pause and bite your lip. Dean just asked you a question— _does he want an answer?_ You doubt it; he hasn't granted you permission to speak yet. But you're not quite sure...

"Do you think that means you're in control?" he asks, crossing one ankle over the other and reclining further back. "Tell me what you fucking think, bitch. Go on. Open up that filthy mouth and answer like a good girl."

Your lips part as effortlessly as the floodgates of your heart. To the question he'd asked, whether you think that you're in control, you give him your wholehearted answer. "No, sir."

His beautiful brows arch and then furrow dangerously. "Did my little slut just say no to me?"

" _N-no_ , sir," you desperately repeat. "I... I mean..."

Dean very clearly knows just what you mean, but  _God_ , him torturing you like this is the stuff of fucking dreams... especially when he cuts you off and keeps up his own stream of dark, degrading dirty talk. "I don't give half a shit what you mean. I couldn't give less of a shit about you,  _anything_  about you. Any damn thing. Do you understand that, you pathetic piece of trash?"

"Yes, sir," you gasp, bobbing your head in a low nod, soaking in the truth, dripping wet as it rips you in half.

Glowing green eyes pierce right through you. "I don't think you do."

 _Shit_ , you think as you bite down hard on your lip—because the way your beloved fiancé is dominating and degrading you like this, the devilish edge in his tone, the fucking darkness... it's all taking you right to the edge. And you're certain that in this dungeon, you are not allowed to come yet. Not until he says. It feels like you're bound to explode just from the way Dean's gaze surveys your naked body, grazing every inch, and then focusing all of a sudden on your clit.  _Shit. Shit..._

"Somewhere deep in that worthless whore heart of yours, I bet you think you matter in this world. That your desires determine everything that happens," he taunts as the force of his gaze fucks your cunt. "Does that turn you on, slut? Getting what  _you_  want?"

 _Ughh—of course it does, but... but you only want what_ he _wants..._  unable to manage much of anything else, you just desperately shake your head.

Dean shakes his own, that same degrading gesture as before, a show of pure disgust. "Won't even answer the damn question, huh?" he scoffs, his dark emerald glare hot enough to burn your goddamned skin off. "Guess I'll just have to show you the answer, then. Show you the truth. Fucking hammer it into that stupid head, drill it right into you."

A needy moan escapes your lips, a wordless whimper of  _Yes sir, please do..._

"The truth is that I own your sorry ass, bitch. Body, heart, and soul. That  _I'm_  the one in full control. In this world—and in any other world,  _ever_ , you dirty little girl..." Dean Winchester purrs as he finally lets his feet down from the table before him, bracing his elbows on the surface and clasping his hands, one strong fist in the other, shifting forward in his seat as he talks so masterfully down at you, "...you're gonna play by  _my_  rules."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that last gif KILLED ME DEAD when I first found it (anyone else??)
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this! Always grateful for kudos and comments <3


	18. Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii Deanbitches! This chapter picks up on the gif from the end of the last one... writing it was a ton of fun :D
> 
> I think the new kinks in this scene are blindfolding and edging. And explicit rules. As Dean would call them, "sexy rules" ;)
> 
> ...I think that's it? I've sort of lost track of a lot of what's new or not, haha :P But I hope you all enjoy it!!

 

Dean has told you that you're gonna play by his rules.

Though you already knew, still it had to be said. He hasn't told you what the rules are yet. But you can guess. You can tell that they're gonna be savage and strict, just the way you like best. Downright cruel. Just the thought of him exercising such control over you gets your cunt dripping wet, makes you drown in a puddle of drool...

Your fiancé smirks as he watches you shudder in pleasure and thirst. Renders you mesmerized, as ever, with the absolute perfection of his features. _From his evergreen eyes... to his statuesque nose... to the strong chiseled bones of his cheeks... to the gleam of his tongue as he runs it along the straight rows of his pearly white teeth..._  Rising from his seat, he strides toward you, slowly, and your heart beats to the rhythm of his feet.

"So fucking filthy," he scoffs as a thick glob of slobber slips off of your lips, dropping onto the hard floor beneath. "Pathetic little bitch. Making a mess already."

 _God, you're so fucking sorry_... and yet what could anyone even expect? Of course your mouth would water uncontrollably, in Dean's delicious presence. Beholding him in all his beauty, all his glory....

"Why are you even looking at me," he growls, standing close enough now that you can make out every hair of his furiously furrowed brows, as he stares you down. "Hmm? Is that any way to behave, when the sight of me gets you so dirty? Just look at the mess you've made. Bet that wet cunt of yours is gonna start squirting all over the floor, too, at this rate."

You lower your gaze, cowering in shame, biting your bottom lip as your head dips down, shutting your mouth to make sure no more spit can fall out. But the way Dean has you bound—with all your limbs tied to an X-shaped frame, you realize now... you won't be able to help it, if your desperate pussy starts leaking all over the ground. You're sure it will; you've never been more aroused.

"That's it, bitch. Keep that stupid head down," your fiancé says. "Bowing low like a slave. You think any of us want to look at your worthless whore face?"

Trembling in submission, well aware of the other five versions of Dean in the room even when all your focus is only on him, you wag your head in a weak shaking motion.

"Mmm. Bet you're dying to look up at me again. This face you love so much," he mercilessly sneers, reading your mind as he comes near, feet planted squarely on the floor between your widespread thighs. "But you oughta ask yourself, slut... who gave you the right to raise those fucking eyes?"

Every fiber of your being knows the answer.  _No one, sir_. You gulp down the gallons of drool on your tongue so you can dare to part your lips, in case he wants you to respond.  _Does he want you to open your mouth, though? To answer out loud?_ You're honestly not sure...

Before you can think any further, Dean suddenly turns and starts moving away. When he speaks, it's to one of the others. "Why don't you tell her," he says. "Teach this dirty bitch a lesson, Boss. Rule number one. Let's make sure she won't ever forget."

 _Oh fuck yes_. Your immediate impulse is to lift your head, as you sense Mr. Smith coming out of the darkness, crossing the floor of the dimly lit dungeon with steady, deliberate steps. The calm click of his classy dress shoes against the stone surface is just...  _ugh_ , it's too fucking hot not to witness. And yet you know better than that. You can't look up at him. You just  _can't_.

"You see, these are  _my_ rules..." the true Dean reminds you as he saunters across the room, "but these other five versions of me know them, too. Just as well as I do. And to tell you the truth—I'm done wasting my breath on you, whore. Think it's time for someone else to take the floor."

You can hear him pass by Mr. Smith as they trade positions. Your fiancé snickers a few words, not even bothering to look back at you over his shoulder, when he does. "Bitch is all yours."

It's so true. Though you'll always belong to your one and only Dean Winchester, forever, it's his place to share you whenever he wants to. Whoever he says...  _that's_ who you belong to.

And right now that's the Boss. Clad in his finest high-powered suit, he undoes the tie around his neck as he looks dominantly down at you. You can't see, with your head bowed like this—but somehow you just know, from the sinister rustle of cloth as he clutches one end of the tie in his fist, tugging forcefully down on it.  _Holy shit_... just the thought of the ways he could use that elegant silk tie on you, all the damn things he could do, gets you so fucking wet. 

Your body is tense when you feel him approach. Blessing your senses with his sweet natural scent, musk and sweat, blended seamlessly in with a spray of expensive cologne, subtle yet strong as it floods your nose, getting you drunk as he slowly comes close. With him towering over you, all you can do is inhale the essence of his presence while looking down onto the laces of his polished shoes.

"So is our little toy gonna play by the rules?" Mr. Smith croons in that powerful voice of his, velvety smooth. "You know you're not worthy of looking at us, no matter how badly you want to. Don't you."

Clamping your teeth over your wet lower lip, you bob your dumb head in a dutiful nod, unsure if he expects you to respond aloud or not. 

"You oughta know, you goddamned good-for-nothing cunt. That's rule number one," he states, dangling the undone tie inches beneath your breathless face. You stare down at his beautiful hand, as he does, filled with the sudden urge to kiss and suck his thumb. He tells you the first rule as you bite your tongue. "You don't get to look at us without permission."

He shifts his fist to brush the strip of silk against your gasping neck, and just imagining him choking you with it is hot enough to make you come...

"Do you understand?" he demands as you keep staring at his sturdy, stunning hands. "You stupid piece of trash? 'Cause I don't think you do. What the fuck did I just tell you?"

 _Oh shit_ —it hits you then. He hadn't only meant that you can't look him in the eye. You're not allowed to look at  _any_ part of him.  _You have no fucking right..._

All of a sudden, in a split second, you feel yourself plunged into darkness as the Boss presses his tie against your eyes, binds it around your dizzy head. "So disobedient," he grunts as he fastens it in a tight knot. "Such a pathetic fucking  _idiot_. Think you can finally follow the rules like that? Huh? 'Cause trust me—you don't wanna know what'll happen if not, you dumb slut."

 _Ugh Goddd_... your head spins from the force of his dominance, overcome with the sensation of submission to your fierce and flawless boss; your eyes start rolling into the back of your skull as he talks, reeling in bliss beneath the binding, blinding cloth.  _He is honestly too fucking hot..._

Of course, by now your cunt is soaked wet, literally dripping like a faucet—you realize with a pang of shame, once it's too late, that some of your juices have started to spill from your pussy lips. Mr. Smith also notices. Because the way he's standing over you, your open crotch is hovering right over one of his shoes; the drop of your juice splatters onto the tip. Making a mess of the footwear he keeps so impeccably polished. It's an unforgivable sin and you know it.

The Boss considers this with a dark, disapproving hiss. "Well, aren't you just a naughty, nasty little piece of  _shit_..."

You've never felt more mortified in all your life, filled to the brim with regret and self-hatred. You just  _have_  to apologize for it. "I-I'm so sorry, Boss—"

"Oh, no you're not," he cuts you off, clenching his hand around your throat, grip tightening as he watches you choke. "You're fucking getting off. Loving every damn minute of this. See, I think maybe you break the rules on purpose. 'Cause you like it when we're pissed. Like being punished. Don't you, bitch. It's what your filthy little cunt will always want."

At this point, your grasp on consciousness is basically gone, but you're vaguely aware that your pussy is probably squirting all over his shoes and the floor all at once. That's how perfect and powerful he is: enough to make you come without even touching your cunt. A literal sex god. While you're strangled and unable to respond, the reply to his question swims through your dazed thoughts. _Yes, Boss_ — _yes of course, this pain and punishment, this is exactly what I want... you're so damn hot when you're pissed off..._

"What—you wanna answer that, you worthless fucking slut? Want me to let go of your throat so you can talk?" he brutally taunts.

With what little strength you have left, you manage a sorry excuse for a nod.

That's when another voice chimes in. "Well, I think the fuck not."

You recognize that voice on the instant, magnificent and majestic: it's Jensen. Your sovereign king, taking the reins and stepping in. 

"You've had your first lesson," he says, as Mr. Smith releases his hold on your neck and starts backing away. The king strides up to take the boss's place in a seamless transition. "Rule number one: that you are not to look at us without permission. That tie around your eyes will make damn sure you don't forget it. But now... what do you reckon is the second?"

His royal fingers rise to scrape across the soft skin of your neck, tracing the marks the boss's stranglehold had left. You shiver beneath his touch, shaking with pleasure and gasping for breath.

"Come on, princess," Jensen teases. "Take a wild guess..."

 _Is that your cue to speak?_ You're not sure, but you want to be ready to give him an answer, if that is his wish. Still barely able to breathe, heart pounding in trepidation with each beat, you hesitantly part your lips...

And then a sadistic chuckle huffs past his. "...if you can, that is."

At that, your king places one of his hands around your neck, right where the boss's had just been, and clamps the other palm over your nose and mouth, completely smothering your snout. With your slobbery lips smushed up into his skin, you struggle to pucker them into a worshipful kiss. But he's pressing so hard that you can't really move them at all, so your efforts, as ever, are useless. It was such a pathetic attempt that he probably doesn't even notice. Which is for the best, because he would just laugh in contempt, if he did.

His contempt of your pitiful ass is already plenty intense, as it is. "Think you can talk like this?" he rasps as his strength suffocates all your senses. "Huh, princess? Who gave you the fucking right to  _ever_ speak to us. If only you weren't so damn stupid, you'd know just how unworthy you are of that privilege."

 _Yes, yes, Your Highness_ , is all you can think, though you know you're in no place to say it. You wouldn't, in this moment, even if you could.  _You have so much to learn, and they're teaching you so fucking good..._

"This dirty little mouth better stay shut unless we command you to open it," Jensen instructs. "Understood?"

Desperate to respond, you try to nod... but at this point, with his palm splayed over the whole bottom half of your face, his viselike grip around your neck, there's hardly any oxygen in your asphyxiated head. A few more seconds of this punishment and surely you'll be dead— _the thought of which gets you so wet_... but then the king swiftly releases your throat and your snout, stepping back in the exact instant before it comes to that.

"That's rule number two, slut," he declares, as your lungs flood with huge gusts of air. "You are not to speak to us without permission. Keep that filthy mouth of yours shut."

Naturally, your jaw had dropped open the moment the king had let go of it. Hating yourself for giving in to that wretched reflex, you hasten to seal your lips, inhaling through your nose alone, while you continue drowning in the deepest subspace you have ever known...

And then the next version of Dean arrives onto the scene. "You are the most disgusting thing I've ever fucking seen." 

 _Oh God_ —it's Chief. You can only dream how hot he must look right this minute, holster strapped around his thigh, heavy from all the deadly weapons in it, fire in his eyes, gleaming the darkest and most dangerous shade of green.

"Just listen to yourself, bitch," he sneers as he approaches. "Fifty shades of pathetic. Snorting through your snout like a pig. You make me  _sick_."

Cringing in shame of your own existence, you hold your breath in his presence, horrified at the thought that he'd been displeased by your desperate need for oxygen.

"That's it. You shouldn't even be breathing," Chief says, spitting on your forehead, smearing it all over your face, then taking a firm grip of your quivering chin. "Who gave you the right to breathe, slut? Do you think you deserve that?"

It's hard to shake your head, when Holster has it in his grasp like this. But somehow, just the slightest bit, you manage it.

A mocking snicker passes from his luscious lips. "Damn straight you don't, you good-for-nothing bitch. You never did," he reminds you, and then all of a sudden, you feel the barrel of a gun pressed up against your puckered lips. "Now suck it."

You part your lips on the instant, grateful for the reason to open your mouth again, striving to swallow as he shoves the weapon down your gaping throat. As you do, your every impulse is to breathe through your nose—you have no right to do that, you know. Yet your animal instincts, too strong to control, might kick in any second...

Chief takes care of that, as you should've known to expect. Takes the tip of your nose between thumb and forefinger and pinches so hard, so damn rough, that it almost feels as if he wants to fucking pull it off. All your airways screwed to shit, you get off yet again on the incredible sensation of being suffocated, dominated so completely... each time it happens, by each and every version of Dean, it's so much better than anything you'd ever dreamed.

"Choke on that, you sick twisted cunt," Holster taunts, pushing his loaded pistol even more deeply. "Rule number three. You don't deserve to breathe. We don't care if our little pet chokes to death. Don't you ever dare take in a breath without permission. Have you learned your fucking lesson?"

 _Yes, Chief... yes, Chief..._  the silent voice in your mind chants on repeat. Your body is in bad need of some kind of outlet for all the submissive euphoria coursing so forcefully through it, some form of release. And yet you know that you can't breathe, or speak, or even see.  _You don't dare make a sound... you don't dare try to breathe..._ you'll dive straight into death, if that's what obedience means. 

Soon enough, though, you realize that your blinded eyes had an idea of their own—the one type of release you could let yourself seek: through the tie, for some time, you've been crying. Salty tears soaking up the fine silk as you silently weep.

The very moment that you realize this is when the tie is suddenly yanked down off of your eyes, the band of fabric falling to hang loosely at your neck. You notice in the same split second that Holster has just pulled his gun out of your mouth, released your nose, and stepped away. Yet another version of Dean is up next. The one who had taken your blindfold off: it's the demon's turn to play.

In this instant, the temptation to look up at him in all his devilish gorgeousness is damn near impossible to resist. But you know that you have no right to such bliss.

"Oh, babygirl..." Daddy addresses you ominously, the monstrous darkness in his tone making your toes curl, "...you really are a naughty little piece of shit."

He runs his hand across the strip of cloth that's dropped toward your neck, demonic fingers toying with the damp fabric.

"Did you seriously think that you could get away with this?" he asks, and you can feel the fiendish flames rage in his eyes, flashing pitch black. "You've been weeping like a bitch. What—with this tie over your eyes, you thought we wouldn't notice? You that fucking stupid?"

It's so twisted, but he knows that hearing him talk like this just makes you want— _need_ —to sob even  _more_...

"Well, you should've known," Daddy scolds, grazing the blunt edge of his nails against the scars upon your throat. "That kind of sweet release ain't something you deserve. Toys don't cry. You have no right to let tears fall from those filthy fucking eyes. Not without permission, whore. That's rule number four."

"Indeed," the voice of yet another form of Dean agrees, stepping in to stand beside the demon. The angel's voice, exuding all of heaven's high and mighty force. "Each tear our slave spills is a privilege she hasn't earned. A rule she hasn't learned. And yet... you know what's even  _worse_? So much worse than those sorry tears she pours?"

The handsome devil backs away, letting the holy angel take the stage. It takes all your restraint not to lift up your head, behold the beauty of his face. The most flawless set of features, to be sure, on heaven or on earth. But you don't; you know that would be so much more than you are worth.

"What's worse..." Michael utters, tracing a line down your bare naked skin with his dominant forefinger: beginning at your neck, then sliding down between your tits, over your stomach, and— _oh shit_ —drifting dangerously close toward your soaking wet slit... as it turns out, his motions match his words, "...what's worse is just how much this worthless cunt has been squirting all over the floor."

Somehow, you know exactly what's coming next. Shutting your eyes, fighting your tears, biting your tongue and holding your breath, your whole body goes tense as you prepare for what you're sure will feel like fucking death.  _The most unbearable torture, the most painful form of pleasure_...

"Don't come," the archangel commands, in sync with the descent of his hand. And then... with one touch of his thumb, he has you utterly undone. His skin makes contact with your clit the very instant that he says it. "Rule number five: don't you dare come without permission. You have no goddamned right. You sickening, subhuman sack of  _scum_."

On the instant, your aching cunt, as well as your whole body and soul, convulse in an earth-shattering explosion. It feels much more like an atomic fucking bomb than just an orgasm. You're well aware of just how badly you've behaved, just how disgracefully you've disobeyed... but you could not have possibly reacted to your master's touch in any other way. Of course, the angel knows it. You're pretty certain that the purpose of what he had done was just what happened: to obliterate your ovaries to oblivion, downright destroy his dirty little slave. No doubt that is his favorite way to play.

And no matter how many times you fucking die—the more the better, to be honest, in this pearl-created place, where you'll always come back to life—you could go on playing this game literally all day every day.

This time, just now from Michael's touch upon your cunt, you're not sure if you're  _actually_  dying, in the way you have before—more so just fainting from the sheer force of the climax that just tore right through your core. It feels basically the same, though, as your senses fade, blood draining from your brain as your consciousness all slips away.

The last thing that you feel before falling faint is the sacred touch of your true love, upon your face. "That's it, bitch. Looks like you're learning rule number six..."

You already know what it is; everyone in the room does, but there's nothing better than hearing Dean Winchester say it, as you drift off into a state of pure subspace and bliss.

"Without our permission— _my_  permission..." he says, because yes, even in this world with five other versions of your lover, the only permission that ever truly matters to you is  _his_ , "...you have no right to fucking exist."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this one :D
> 
> Always grateful for kudos and comments!! <3


	19. True Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii Deanbitches! So in this chapter some more rules are broken... and then the reader gets her punishment :D
> 
> I hope you like it! Though actually I hope you hate it — because that's the whole point of punishment, isn't it? ;)
> 
> P.S. The first gif is Michael saying "Is that what you want?" which occurs about halfway through the chapter...

 

You know the rules now. They've been drilled into your skull, by all the masters who have trained you so damn well. The six commandments to which your whole soul is bound. Without permission from your gods, these are the laws you must not break, no matter how much pain and self-restraint it takes.  _No matter what._  The rules resound on repeat in your head, still reeling from your recent climax, barely even conscious. Rules that you could never forget, even if you so wished.

 _Thou shalt not look... Thou shalt not speak... Thou shalt not breathe... Thou shalt not weep... Thou shalt not come..._ and last, and most important:  _Thou shalt not exist_. 

It's what you've always wanted—to submit with every fiber of your being to the man you live to worship, just like this. There is no greater bliss, no higher purpose, than to give yourself over in total service, to someone so fucking  _perfect_. You exist only if Dean permits. You know it.

What you don't know yet is what will happen if— _God forbid_ —one of the rules is broken. At least one of them already has been. From the angel's sacred touch upon your cunt, you hadn't had the strength to stop yourself from coming. Just one flick of Michael's thumb had sparked a soul-crushing explosion. So you had come, without permission from him, or from anyone. It chills you to the bone just to imagine what might lie ahead as punishment...

The least you can do is behave like a good little slave, from now on. You won't dare disobey your commandments again. While Mr. Smith's tie is still hanging loosely at your neck, after being pulled down by the demon—no longer serving as the blindfold it'd once been—you bow your head and shut your eyes yourself, to make sure not to look upon any of your gods by accident. You seal your lips and bite your tongue, and let no air into your lungs. With all your limbs securely bound, struggling not to take a breath or make a sound... your subspace feels so deep that all you want to do is weep, and you're not sure if you can keep the flood of tears from spilling down. 

But you know better than to let that happen. For you don't deserve to cry; you're just a fucktoy with no rights. And always have been. Being so harshly reminded in this moment feels like heaven, threatening to make you come undone,  _again_... but you just  _can't_. It's more than you can stand. In this state of suspended existence—your entire existence forbidden, without their permission—it feels like you're going to die, literally drop dead, any second.

As if you could be any more turned on, the voices in the room speak up, just then. You can hear mocking laughter, and growls of arousal as they watch you suffer, before the true Dean finally says something.

"Just look at that..." he sadistically huffs at the sight of you holding your breath. "Our little bitch is gonna suffocate herself to death."

You hear a cruel snicker from Holster, feeling his body heat as he takes a step closer. "Mmm, so obedient all of a sudden. So soaking wet. You learned your lesson, pet?" he teases, prodding at your throbbing, slick clit with the tip of his gun. "Or are you gonna come again? Without fucking permission?"

In a desperate attempt not to come, you bite down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood.  _Which was dumb, when for someone as twisted as you, blood and pain are a turn-on._

"Answer the goddamn question, slut," Jensen gruffly commands, stepping in and gripping your jaw in his strong, regal hand. "You may breathe just enough to speak. Then shut that dirty mouth back up."

Your mouth falls open as soon as he lets go of your chin. "Th-thank you, my—my king..." you stutter, spastically gasping in big gulps of oxygen. It's hard to form words when you're practically choking. Once you've thanked him for the privilege of breathing, you reply to Holster's question. "Y-yes, Chief. I... I've learned my lesson. I won't come without permission."

The 2014 version of Dean doesn't even respond. Just keeps rubbing his cold, loaded pistol all over your cunt.

Though your eyes are still shut, you can hear the superior smirk curling up Jensen's lips with the words he speaks next. No king has ever been so damn majestic, so malicious. Every word off of those pretty pink lips of his sounds so fucking delicious. "Hmm. Is that a promise, princess?"

Shuddering in bliss, you bob your head. "Yes, Your Highness..."

 _Smack._ A calloused palm comes down against your cheek that very instant, shocking you with the sheer force of the attack. The hand doesn't belong to the king; you're not sure how you knew that. Probably because, calloused though the skin was, it was less rough and rugged than all of the rest—there's one man who maintains his hands best, spending most of his life at the office, behind his pristine, polished desk. It's obvious that this hand belongs to the Boss.

"Looks like this piece of shit forgot how to take orders. Did your king let you answer that question with words?" Mr. Smith grunts, tightening the loose knot of his tie at your neck, and then slapping the same cheek again. "He said you could speak to respond to the first.  _Not_  the second. You dumb fucking  _cunt_."

 _Oh God_ — _this kind of dominance is everything you'll ever want..._ It's becoming so much fucking harder to hold yourself back from exploding in pleasure. The Boss is right, of course; King Jensen had told you to shut your mouth back up, as soon as you'd answered Chief's question. But you hadn't. You've broken the rules yet again;  _you can never forgive yourself, ever..._

"Well, then. That's two rules broken at once," the angel pronounces, approaching to spit on your freshly slapped cheek, then smearing his holy juice into your skin with the pad of his thumb. "Breathing and speaking. Without our permission. And we all know she's already broken the rule not to come..."

 _Fucking fuck. Holy mother of fuck._ That spit-slick thumb of his starts sliding down your chin, then down further—if he keeps going till it flicks against your clit, just as he'd done before, how could you possibly restrain yourself from moaning like a whore? You'll break that same rule even worse this time, squirting all over the floor, even more...

"So that's three rules right there," the demon butts in, stepping in from the other side, raking his fingers roughly through your hair. "And I'm counting another..."

Only then do you realize that tears are leaking from your tightly sealed eyes. You'd been trying so hard not to cry—in a sick twist of fate, you're probably sobbing from the effort, from how much it hurts. As the demon leans in, his liquor-laced breath fans across your flushed skin, hot and cool all at once, especially where you can feel it against your eye sockets, the bed of the tears you've shed, bitter and salty and wet.

"...another rule broken, right here on her filthy whore face. Think I'll have a little... taste..." Daddy savagely says, sweeping his warm, slick tongue over the skin around your eyes, relishing every tear that you've cried, a lick so ravenous that it feels like he's gonna devour you whole, body and heart and soul.  _And hot damn would you like that._ Just the thought makes your fucking toes curl. So does the satisfied sound of his low, husky voice when he finally pulls back, licking his lips with a loud smack, followed by a devilish snarl. "Mmmm. Tastes like pure fucking torture. Your tears always did turn me on, baby girl."

The demon—naturally, given that he is a literal monster—has always gotten off on making you suffer. Maybe more so than any other version of your lover. Weeping bitch has always been his favorite flavor. It thrills you to imagine how sexy he must look right now, with his eyes black as night, massive cock hard as a rock between his muscled thighs, as he savors the taste of your pain in his hot, hungry mouth.

From the other end of the room, your true love speaks up now. His voice will always be your favorite sound, no matter what he's talking about.  _Even more so when he's talking dirty, though. That's what you can't live without._  "Good-for-nothing slut. Bet you wish you could take that long, thick demon tongue in your dripping wet cunt. You want Daddy to eat you the fuck out?"

It is  _killing_  you not to be able to answer aloud...

"Hmm?" Michael ruthlessly taunts. You can picture the way his angelic head cocks to the side, just a bit, and the shape of his heavenly lips, as he utters the words while his thumb hovers inches away from your clit. "Is that what you want?"

 _Ugh Goddd_ —your dazed brain is nothing but a puddle of  _yes_ , so desperate to release the forbidden response. Any second, the answer is gonna gush out of your soaking wet cunt...

"Well, I guess you're even dumber than we thought," Mr. Smith scoffs, still standing close by, looking on. No doubt shaking his head in disgust, frowning down at your stupid face, degrading you just with the force of his raging green gaze, like a boss. "To think any of us—even a damn demon—would  _ever_  stoop so low, to put our lips anywhere near that filthy fucking hole you've got."

"Ugh. Just the thought of it makes us all sick. You oughta know, princess..." Jensen says, the ruthless edge in his royal voice scratching your every itch. "That kind of thing is a privilege. One that you will  _never_  deserve, for as long as you fucking exist. Because you'll always be nothing but a desperate, pathetic, worthless piece of shit."

It's seriously taking all your strength to keep moans of euphoria from slipping past your lips. You don't know how much strength you have left; you've lost count of the time that has passed since you took your last breath. There's hardly any oxygen up in your head.  _Surely you're on the brink of death..._

"Stay the fuck awake, bitch," the demon spits. "We ain't done punishing you yet. Hell, we haven't even started."

 _Ughh, fucking shit_ —even when you're basically dead, you find yourself staying alive and awake just to get what you crave: your punishment. Whatever it is. If it's from all of them, you know it will be fucking exquisite.

"Why don't you shove that gun up inside her," the true Dean tells Holster. "Finger on the trigger. Maybe the threat of a damn bullet in her cunt will keep this lazy slut awake."

That is one suggestion Chief is happy to take. You can picture the dark, wicked grin on his face as he pushes the barrel in so deep and hard that you're sure your whole body will break. "This is all you will ever be worth. Do you understand, whore? Taking dick, getting fingered, eaten out... you think that's what you live for? No, that's much more than this dirty hole deserves. You are a toy that exists to be used and abused and  _destroyed_."

You've known it all along, but it feels so damn good to hear it, from this dominant, beautiful voice...

" _God_ that shit gets you wet," Holster grunts as the pistol squelches deeper in. "Fucking disgusting. Ugh. A filthy pig like you ain't even worth a bullet."

He blesses your face with a shot of his spit and then steps away, leaving the weapon buried to the hilt in your slit.

"Keep that gun in your cunt," your fiancé commands. "Plugging that worthless pussy right up. That's an order, bitch. Think you can take it?"

The king huffs out a laugh and slaps your aching tits. Just for kicks. "Nah, she ain't gonna make it..."

"Yeah, let's push her right over the edge. Make her break the two rules we've got left," Mr. Smith ominously says. "Guess what, you nasty little slut? We're all naked." 

 _Holy shit._ Those words are like a direct hit to your eyelids. For so long you've been keeping them shut; they flash open on instinct, in that exact instant. You'd assumed that your masters were clothed this whole time—you were sure that they had been, in fact—but based on what the Boss has just said...  _well, apparently not_. And the thought of all these flawless gods standing here fully naked while torturing their little slut is just too fucking hot...

Your eyes blink to adjust to the dim lighting, for a few seconds. Before you can even see anything, you hear the familiar sound of all six of them laughing. And you realize then just how stupid you'd been—Mr. Smith was just baiting you. Faking you out, to make you break this rule. Played you like a damn fool. You close your eyes again, lower your head and cringe in shame, of being so insanely dumb, of the commandment you've broken, and even more so of the fact that you love the abuse, the way it screws you up, cuts in so deep, so fucking cruel....

At least you can be grateful for having set eyes on them for a split second, amidst your long, dark spell of blindness. Just in that, you feel blessed. Even when fully clothed, they are still fucking perfect.

Meanwhile, the Boss mocks your humiliation, sadistically rubbing it in, how he so easily fooled you into breaking a rule, tricked you into thinking that they were all naked. "There it is. Knew she'd break it," he growls. "Just look how ashamed she is now. Squirming like a damn insect."

Your true love chimes in. Reminding you then of the sixth and last rule, the one of the utmost importance. "And no one ever let you exist, bitch. So that's it. That's all six. You've broken every single one of your commandments."

The angel clicks his tongue in disapproval. "Then I suppose the time has come to show this disobedient piece of scum what happens next. To dish out some long overdue punishment."

On that, they are all in agreement. You can tell even in the silence. 

A few seconds later, the next voice your hear is the demon's. "Wonder what the fuck she expects."

The next sound that you hear is footsteps. A gut-wrenching sense of distance. Then the voice of your one true beloved, the sound of a devious smirk on his lips. "Sure as hell not this..."

The footsteps continue, and that's when it hits you. Just how you are bound to be punished.  _Just what they are going to do..._

Holster speaks next. "Keep that gun up your cunt while we're gone, whore. Don't you fucking  _dare_  let it drop to the floor."

"Yeah, it'll be a good workout for that used up fuckhole of yours," the Boss brutally says. "Better be nice and tight when we come back again."

 _Oh God. Oh fuck._ You should've known that this would be your punishment. There is no other way that Dean could ever truly torture you, no other thing that any form of him could do. You will always love any damn thing that he puts you through. The more pain the better; it just gets you wetter... except for this. The heartbreaking, mind-numbing, soul-crushing pain of his absence.

You're already fatally low on oxygen. Even more so now, as all of the blood rushes out of your head. More than anything, though, Dean is your oxygen, the very air you breathe, the only thing you'll ever need. Wherever he goes, your heart and soul will follow. 

 _But not if he doesn't want them._ All that's keeping you from dropping dead is the last thing the Boss had just said: ' _when we come back again_ '...

As if reading your mind, Jensen echoes that sacred lifeline of a word uttered by Mr. Smith. " _When_? Pretty sure you meant  _if_..."

"Oh, don't spoil the ending," the demon mischievously tells the king. "Leaving her hanging, clinging on to false hope... well, now, that's all the fun."

At this point it feels like your heart has stopped beating. But somehow it hasn't, just yet. Your true punishment isn't until you suffer through what you're about to hear next.

It comes from the love of your life. The words that cut into your heart like a knife, the punishment that well and truly makes you want to die. "Now what do you say we all go get some  _real_ cunt," he suggests to the six other versions of him, as they all move toward the far end of the room. "Women who are worth something. Hot chicks who are—unlike that sack of scum—actually human." 

"Well said," one of the others says. "I think this toy is broken. I for one am fucking  _done_..."

You think that might've been the angel... but right now, wallowing in sorrow, you can't even tell. Your senses are too far gone. This current state takes the concept of subspace to a whole other darker and deeper dimension. All six men, some of them more than once, voice their agreement as they take their time leaving the room.  _Leaving you._ Laughing and smirking, making hell hurt even worse, milking your suffering for all it's worth, before they make their exit, moving on.

"Yeah, I've got at least a hundred bitches' numbers in my phone. Can't wait to call up every one..."

"Let's just leave her here forever, with her visions of us fucking other women.  _Better_  women."

"Damn straight. All day every day. Maybe even making sweet love to them..."

"The kind of sex a worthless cunt like her could  _never_ deserve."

"Mmm, I'll get off even harder knowing how she's dying down here, just how much it hurts..."

"Well, I won't be thinking a damn thing about her."

"Hope she dies drowning in her own juices, getting off on thinking of just how much she loves us, while we fuck other girls and carry on without her..."

Laughter. Footsteps. Fading further into the distance.

When the light switches off and the dungeon door finally shuts, you are plunged into darkness. In more ways than one. The darkest part of all of this, lying deep at the heart of it... is that this is what  _you_  want. 

It horrifies you, but it's true. Dean Winchester is too good for you. Always has been. He's been blind to that obvious fact for so long, in the 'real' world, for as long as the two of you have been together. If anything, he's always thought the opposite. But here, now, in this world... he sees the truth. He finally knows it. And he's not afraid to show it. Because that's what  _you_  wanted. Your wish has been granted. It still hurts you far more than anything else ever could; it's still the worst possible form of punishment. Just as your masters intend. 

Yet deep down, it feels good, to know the man you love so much will carry on and live his life, just as he should, leaving your sorry ass behind. Hurts like heaven, to be abandoned by six different versions of him all at once. To imagine Dean Winchester finally moving on to other women, better things ahead... and leaving you for dead.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all probably don't need me to tell you this, but don't worry — the fic definitely won't end this way. Dean does truly love the reader; it's just that in the pearl-created world, he has to indulge all of her darkest deepest desires, which include him fucking other girls and abandoning her. But even in this world, that abandonment can't last forever. There are still plenty more kinks to explore in upcoming chapters :D
> 
> Oh, and I used that last gif even though "Night, bitch" isn't something Dean actually says in this chapter... I think it just captures the general idea of him ditching her :)
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this! Or, you know, hated it ;P Either way, always grateful for kudos and comments! <3


	20. Your Reward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii Deanbitches! So as mentioned in some of the comments on the last chapter, this one includes some softer/caring moments. The scene doesn't include too much kinky smut, since sex isn't the focus of it, but there is a little bit, and it does set the scene for the Dean-bang that's coming up next :D

 

When you wake, you're in a different place. No longer locked away, all tied up in a sex torture dungeon, the dark lonely room in which you'd been abandoned. There's a mattress beneath your back, pillows around your head, a lamp beside the bed, the soft glow of its light gently warming your face. The sheets are clean, but still they smell like Dean. Just like always. Surrounding you in the scent of your fiancé, embracing you in his delicious essence, the sensation of his presence.  _Pure fucking heaven._ Your eyes haven't yet fully opened; you just soak it in, for a moment. The feeling of being so safe, where you lay, tucked in under the covers, right here in the bed that you share with your lover.

In the midst of all of this, you have to wonder...  _Is it over? Are you and Dean back in the real world? Did someone destroy the pearl...?_ Feeling safe— _this_ kind of safe, all comfy and cuddly and warm—isn't part of the script, in your kinky magic wish-created universe. You don't even have a safeword. Because you truly have no limits, with your one and only Winchester. Your love for Dean, the trust you've placed in him, infinite and complete, is all the safety you will ever need.

When your eyes finally flutter open, the first thing that you see is him. The same face that you see all the time, in your mind, whether you're waking or dreaming, dead or alive. These flawless features that your faithful heart has memorized. Down to the faintest freckle, to the shape of every ridge and curve and line. The exact color of the gemstones in his eyes, the way each facet catches light, as if by some divine design.  _So goddamn fine._ On the surface, Dean has always been gorgeous enough to strike anyone blind. The wildest thing is that he is even  _more_ stunning on the inside. His perfection runs much deeper than the skin, shines even brighter from within.

The fact that this god of a man asked for your hand in fucking marriage never fails to blow your mind. You won't ever forget just how he looked that night. Down on one knee, his emerald eyes full of a light you thought you'd never see, in Dean: the hope of being truly  _happy_. Daring to believe that he deserved to live the dream. You were the one who brought that out of him, and breathed it into him, that hope and that belief. From the moment he first met you, you've been everything he needs.

 _Or so he thinks, at least._ Whereas you know the truth: you'll never be enough. Never be worthy of his love. No one could ever be, given that he's superior to every being in the universe, but you're sure that there are others who come just a little closer. Girls who are hotter, stronger, smarter—plenty of those kinds of women exist, and for years on end, Dean used to fuck them whenever he wanted. He's probably fucked hundreds. Till you came along and screwed his life to shit. Any one of them would be a better match for him, a less undeserving fiancée for someone so utterly perfect. _For so long, he's just been wasting away his precious days with you_ , you miserably think.  _Why did you ever let him do it...?_

These thoughts hit you all in an instant, a spell of self-hatred swelling in your still sleepy head. The instant melts away, when Dean shifts where he sits, right beside where you're lying in bed, his hand tenderly sweeping a stray strand of hair from the side of your face.

"Hey there, beautiful," he says, in that heavenly voice of his—low and husky, yet smoother and sweeter than honey. You can see and can taste the pure love in his gaze, filling up your whole soul. "How, uh... how do you feel?"

Beaming like a love-drunk idiot, eyes still heavy-lidded, you tilt your head till your parted lips brush against his wrist. Every inch of him is just too precious not to kiss. "Hey yourself, gorgeous," you murmur into his skin, reaching to take his hand in your worshipful grip, so you can guide his thumb up toward your lips. "Good, I guess. Though I'd feel better if you'd call me bitch and make me fucking kneel..." 

He smiles, but it's fragile. Lets you kiss his thumb, but only once, and doesn't let you suck it like you want. Instead he shifts his hand to just cradle your cheek again, holding you in this moment as if there are wounds to heal.

You don't push it. You know that you shouldn't. Just let him do his thing, for a few seconds. Then you gesture at the bedroom, this comforting safe haven where you've woken all of a sudden, and ask him a question. "So, is—is all this... real?"

He bites his lip, in that unintentionally sexy way that's so damn  _Dean_. "Depends what you mean," he answers quietly, while his free hand reaches for something in his jeans.  _What, his dick?_ Even when you can tell sex is far from his mind, it's the first thing you think. Your inner slut can't fight her instincts. Once he pulls the magic pearl out of his pocket, though, it all makes sense. "We ain't back in Kansas, if that's what you're asking."

"Ugh, thank  _God_ —'cause I sure as fuck wasn't done," you gush with a big grin, relieved and grateful that the fantasy will carry on. Dean must've just thought that you needed a break. He was wrong; you were perfectly fine with continuing just as you'd been, suffering through your torture, no matter how badly it ached... yet instead, here you are safe in bed. You may not think that tender loving care is what you need right now—you may not think that there is any place for that, here in this world. But he does. 

Glancing at the pearl in his hand, you can't help but think how it's the same pale creamy color of your favorite thing to drink... just like Dean's luscious seed, in all its sweet white liquid heat, this magical thing he's holding is as powerful as it is precious. 

Yet it's also so fragile. The look in his eyes, as he rolls it around in his palm, makes you wonder if some part of him wants to crush it to dust. But he hasn't, thank goodness. You shift on your pillow, resting all your weight on one elbow, and gaze up at him, curious. "So you just... hit pause?"

His beautiful head slowly nods. "Yeah, looks like."

You heave a quiet sigh. "But why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he asks, and as soon as he says that... it is. 

It shouldn't even be a question. For you should've known it sooner, seen the answer in his eyes.  _He_  is the one with wounds to mend. Through all that you've suffered, just moments ago in the dungeon,  _his_  pain has been much more intense. He could only go for so long without breaking, after how hard his own limits have been bent. He's not a man of many limits, but when it comes to hurting you... that's one of few things Dean has limits against.

Rising upright to sit beside him, you draw close and place one hand upon his chest, feeling his heart beat through the cloth to which your palm is pressed. Professing your unending love in silence. He can feel it; you can tell. And yet it's not enough to heal the hurt that you have dealt. Times like this you really hate yourself.

When he speaks, his voice is weak and soft. "Why is that what you want?" he murmurs. "That... that  _thing_  that just happened. That punishment. I've been playing along, for as long as I can, but  _God_ —even just sayingshit like that, let alone doing it..."

Dean shakes his head, shutting his eyes; a lone tear spills from one of his closed lids. Before you can even lean in then to kiss it, he swipes his hand dismissively across his face to brush it off. Then he places that hand over your own, upon his heart. The both of you hold it together as it breaks apart. "I'll do any damn thing for you, Y/N, if it's what you want, but—but that... that was  _really_ rough."

 _Fuck_. The way he looks now, all torn up, you could neverapologize enough. You'll  _never_  crave that kind of punishment again, if this is what it does to the man you love. 

But you still have to tell him why you wanted it in the first place, for his sake—explain it as well as you can, hoping he'll understand. You lay your other palm upon his perfect face, stroking his cheek, feeling its warmth beneath your hand. "I know, Dean. I'm so sorry. I just... I just love you  _so_ much. You are my everything, my king, my  _god_ , and I will never feel like I'm enough. Never feel worthy of your love. Because I'm not."

Every fiber of his being is protesting every word, but he knows better than to shut you up. These words need to be said, and heard; this is no time to interrupt.

So you continue. Spelling out your sick psychology, why you're a hundred shades of screwed. "So the thought of you moving on, to someone who can give you more of what you need and want—reminding me of how inferior I am, that kind of heartbreak and humiliation, just... well, hurts like hell, but feels like heaven. Hits a certain spot, I guess. It sort of... gets me off."

Dean blinks his bright green eyes and bites his bottom lip. That might have been too much for him to grasp. "But that's..."

You figure you may as well finish his sentence. "...fucked?"

He pauses, flawless features shifting in the faintest flicker of a smile, ever so faint, just a mask for all his pain. Looks as if he's about to nod... but then he stops, and huffs out a soft laugh, that little laugh you love so much. "You know what, actually, I—I'm not one to judge."

Another tear falls, and you get to kiss this one before he wipes it off, smiling as you savor the sweet, bitter salt. "Damn straight you're not."

"No, I meant..." Dean responds, shifting uncomfortably and pausing for a moment too long, before he goes on. "I've, um—kind of imagined the same thing. As in, from... from my end."

You blink and stare, stunned by his sudden confession.  _Did he mean... what you think he meant?_  He'd already admitted that gang-banging sluts used to be one of his favorite kinks, but  _this_... this is something different. "Wait—come again? You mean... you've fantasized about me fucking other men?"

" _Shit_ , Y/N. Don't sugarcoat it or anything," he grumbles, rising from the bed, clearly disgusted with himself. "It's not as if I have some goddamn cuckold kink."

 _God, he's adorable like this_. You know that kind of kink isn't what this is all about, not really. But in some sense, at least, it kind of is. "Well, I couldn't judge you if you did..." you purr as you slip out from under the covers to stand beside him, wrapping both arms around his waist, gazing up into his gorgeous face.  _The only way he could be any more gorgeous right now_   _is if he were naked_. He almost may as well be, though, the way the solid muscles of his torso bulge and ripple underneath his shirt, pressing sensuously against your tits...

In reply to both the words you've spoken and the thoughts that he can read inside your mind, Dean flashes you a playful little grin, pulling you closer into him. "Babe, you could never judge me for anything," he says, dropping a sweet kiss on your forehead. "I just meant that... you're so beautiful and perfect and I want you to have all the fucking best. In love and in sex and in everything else. 'Cause you deserve it. Everything that I can't give. Letting you waste away your life with me, it's—it's the biggest reason why I hate myself."

Looking up into his evergreen eyes, you realize now, more than you've ever known, that they are mirrors of your own. His self-hatred makes no fucking sense, but he wears it so well. It works for him like fine cologne on a male model. Dean is even sexier soaked in his own special brand of self-loathing; it's much better on him than any goddamn piece of clothing, you have to admit.

Still, you're gonna give him shit for it, not caring one bit that you're being hypocritical.  _Because your self-hatred is warranted, goddamnit—whereas his isn't, because he is fucking perfect. Even if he’ll never think it of himself._  "Wow. You really are stupid as hell," you mumble, leaning in toward his lips to claim a kiss, before the words that you say next. Your kisses always say much more than words could ever tell. "Dean, do you honestly think I could  _ever_  be happy with anyone else?"

He licks the flavor of your love off of his lips, then shrugs, head bowed as he looks down below his belt. "I dunno. Maybe a handsome devil with a huge monster cock... or a holy archangel..."

With an exasperated smile, you roll your eyes and grind your hips into his crotch, the perfect cock you love so much. The fact hasn't escaped you that this latest confession from your lover means that your dirtiest dream, of getting fucked by many forms of Dean... is sort of a dream come true for him, too. Which makes this whole experience that much more epic for both of you. But if he's about to start feeling inadequate because of it, he has to fucking stop. "Oh, shut up. I only want them for the gang-bang when all six of you are wearing this same skin," you reassure him, one of your hands sneaking under the hem of his shirt, skimming over his smooth sculpted abdomen, the other down toward his fly, palming the luscious bulge that lies within. "This mighty fine meatsuit I'm marrying."

A heated groan escapes his throat, the sound of sex and sin, though your fiancé playfully tries to resist giving in to your shameless seduction. "Hey, don’t objectify me. You know I'm more than just this meat..."

"Hmm, you sure about that?" you ask, left hand shifting to squeeze his firm, denim-clad ass, while your right hand remains on the cock that's been hardening so fast, so hungry for you. "It’s pretty fucking  _huge_..." 

He groans again, louder this time; in this moment it's all he can do.

Both of your hands are on his crotch now, slowly unzipping his jeans, set to burst at the seams. You lean in to whisper words into his ear, the heartfelt vow that you will always mean. "Trust me, Dean. All I will ever want is  _you_."

Dean seems barely able to speak, but somehow he summons the last of that ability, as you drop to your knees. "Blow me till I believe it's true."

And that's exactly what you do.

 

***************

 

"Believe me now?"

Dean's green eyes, wild and wide, are as stunned as they are stunning, fluttering in a series of quick blissful blinks while focusing on where you kneel between his thighs, getting high on the sight as he looks down. After having swallowed the biggest load he's  _ever_  dumped in your throat, you're now sweeping his big throbbing dick like the world's sweetest chapstick all over your lips. Dean's glistening precome and pearly white cream are the prettiest lip gloss there is. You pop the pink tip of his perfect cock out of your mouth with a porn-worthy suctioning sound, then pucker up for him into a playful little pout. 

He lets out an equally porn-worthy moan, long and loud, throwing his head back for a second before looking down at you again, wiping the bright sheen of sweat from his brow. "Son of a— _bitch_ , I'll believe any goddamn word out of that sweet fucking mouth," he answers, beaming at the sight of you so pleased and proud. "How... after all these years we've been together, babe, how are you  _still_ finding new ways to blow my damn brains out?"

You shrug nonchalantly while lavishing passionate kisses all over his balls, the pulsating base of his cock rubbing all over your sloppy snout. You savor the taste of his juices, the smell of his musk and his sweat, soaking wet at the sensation of his scent as it surrounds you all around. "Guess this perfect dick just keeps on getting bigger, so I keep sucking it deeper down."

He releases a genuinely happy little laugh, at that. You've never heard a sweeter sound. "Mmm, is that so?" he goads. "Still can't fuck you in all holes at once, though, you know..." 

Before you can say or do anything in reply, Dean reaches down between his thighs, lifting you up like you weigh literally nothing, then smoothly shifting position all of a sudden, laying you down on your back upon the bed, all your endless love reflected in his eyes while he looks down at you like you are literally everything. He kisses you like that, too. Because that is what you are to him.

You feel it everywhere you touch, skin against skin, even more so deeper within. You're both naked by now, after the epic cock-worshiping session you'd given. In your hearts, with one another, that is how you always have been. Will be till the day you die. Bare naked, where it counts on the inside, nothing to hide... 

 _Speaking of inside_ —that's where you need his cock. Pounding into your cunt to the beat of your heart. Yes, barely two minutes have passed since the best climax of his life, but he's Dean Fucking Winchester, so he's already raging hard. From where you lie beneath him, your hand reaches desperately toward...

"No," he murmurs, smashing you to dust with just one word. But that's not what he wants; he means to do the very opposite, in fact. To put together all the little pieces that have shattered. You may not think you're broken, may not think you really need that... but he knows. He always knows. Everything Dean ever does to you is what you need, because you're his to own. He's so fucking precious that he asks for permission, though. "Can I just, uh—take care of you for a minute, babe? Nice and slow?"

Where his thumb traces your lips, he lets you bless it with a kiss. Anything Dean requests, even if you so wished, you could never resist. "If you insist, gorgeous."

"Oh, you know I do," he coos, shifting his thumb so he can bless your lips with his. And what he utters next... he shows it always, but he doesn't say it much. So it means more than the world, more than all of the worlds, when he does. It's more than true. "I love you."

Melting as ever at those words, you answer him the way you always do. "I love you more..."

"Nuh-uh," he scolds softly as he swiftly flips you over—but of course it's not to take you from behind. Rather to draw a line of kisses up your spine. "This ain't no time for war."

"Yes, sir..." you moan, already squirming in all kinds of pleasure.

"No time for that shit, either," he mutters, massaging the tension from your aching shoulders. "Plenty of time for it later."

"Soon?" you eagerly whimper.

With his loving mouth close by your ear now, he chuckles and growls, and the sound makes your toes curl. "Maybe if you're a good girl."

"Always am, for you," you sigh then as you happily give in to every sweet and caring thing Dean wants to do. "I love you, too."

In the midst of the bliss that ensues, you completely lose sense of all time, of how long this goes on. Ever since the pearl brought you and Dean to this world, you've been tortured and abused, rough and hard—and although Dean had ordered the angel to heal all your wounds and erase all your physical scars, from what'd happened so far, there are marks that run much deeper than the skin, cut to the heart. And Dean heals all of them, the way that only he can. Putting back together every piece and every part.

So by the time he's through with that—for now, at least—it's like you're right back at the start. Dean knows exactly when you're ready to get back to what you came for, in this universe. What you may need, from time to time, is to be healed—yet what you want,  _always_ , with him... is to be blessed with all the torture that you crave, the pain you live to feel. To be blessed so good, so bad, that the blessing becomes a curse. To be blessed with the power of Dean Winchester till it  _hurts_.

He knows. Better than you do, he knows. Knows when it's time to shift back into sex and sin... this is how the transition goes.

Busy singing your praises, he drops a series of adoring kisses from the cheeks of your ass, up the curve of your back till he reaches your neck. " _Damn_ , baby—you're so fucking perfect," he gushes, soft lips moving up to brush against your blushing cheek. "Every inch of this beautiful face, this sweet body... so pretty. Can't believe this is all for me. Maybe—maybe it shouldn't be..." 

If you hadn't been so blissed out, those words should've been the hint. But as it is, you're dazed out in a state of comfort, warm and safe, basking in the perfect way Dean Winchester loves his woman. You don't even see it coming.

"So tell me, bitch," he grunts, calling you by the term that always hits you in the cunt. "Where do you want 'em."

"Hmm?" you hum, hazy and dumb. Only vaguely aware of the sudden wet heat in your core, the wild rhythm to which your heart's starting to drum.

"You heard me," he dominantly purrs, snapping you right to your senses with the fire in his voice and with the force of these next words. "Where do you want 'em.  _Them_. All six of those big fucking dicks that you wished for. Tell me, you dirty little whore."

And now you're there, just like that, drowning in subspace, the universe of pure submission to Dean that you live to explore. All you will ever want is him; all you will ever want is more. " _Mmmphhffuuck_..."

"What's that, slut?" he sneers, savage teeth grazing your ear, massive cock grinding over the crack of your ass as he viciously thrusts his hips forward. "Go on. Use your words."

Your whole body melts into the bed as Dean grabs your hair, claiming control of your head, pulling harder and harder.  _Fuck yes._  "I—I want them... wherever you want them, sir..."

You both know it's the right answer, the  _only_ answer. Getting dragged violently down onto the floor is your reward.  _But not as much of a reward as his next words..._

"Damn right, you worthless fucking whore. Now crawl back down to the dungeon where you belong. And if you wait there like a good little slut, and pray for all six of our cocks hard enough... then maybe we'll finally play out that filthy fantasy of yours."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this!! And that you're excited for what's coming next :)
> 
> Always grateful for kudos and comments <3


	21. The Full Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii Deanbitches! So, first things first, the gangbang itself doesn’t happen just yet (I know, I know, talk about dragging it out!)... there was just one more kink to delve into further, before we get to that. At risk of spoilers, it’s (sort of) the kink that came up in the last couple of chapters: getting off on the humiliation of your beloved Dean fucking superior women. It's only "sort of" because it's not really Dean — I wouldn't want that to happen, after the last aftercare scene!! But there is still one way for the reader to enjoy her sickest and most masochistic kink, guilt-free — or maybe three... Read on to see just what I mean ;)
> 
> Oh and FYI, no other women actually appear in this scene; the reader will just hear descriptions of them. There are some references to the reader serving/submitting to other women, but not too much, so you might still enjoy the rest of this chapter even if girl-on-girl action isn't your thing. It usually isn't for me, but I'd get off on whatever brings pleasure to my sex god king :P  The specific other women mentioned here are featured in this scene not because of their own beauty, or anything about them really, but just because of their status/relation to the relevant versions of Dean. It's all about him, obviously :D
> 
> And I'm pretty sure that in the next chapter the gangbang will finally begin... I guess I shouldn't make any promises, since this fic doesn't always go how I expect — but at this point I really feel like it has to happen!!! So stay tuned my dear Deanbitch friends! :)

 

_... Is this really going to happen?_  

You wonder in silence, kneeling all alone in Dean's sex torture dungeon. You've been waiting for this for so long, and the wait isn't over just yet— _but surely it will be soon_ , you imagine. _Any second now_... You sit in the dim-lit darkness, waiting like a good little bitch, both hands clasped in your lap, wringing your fingers in anxious impatience, shaking with anticipation, head bowed down as you stare at the cold stony ground. All you can think about is being ravaged by six big, hard, _perfect_ dicks, feeding your body and soul so deliciously full, as they all plunge deep inside your every hole and fucking _pound_...

The true Dean is finally ready for this, you know now. The soft, sweet session of lovemaking and aftercare that you two shared makes you feel even more secure, even more sure that he's gotten past all his doubts. After he'd tortured you with the ultimate punishment—threatening to abandon you for other women—all of his self-hating doubts had to surface, just then, in order for him to overcome them. Of course, in this fantasy world, it would have been easier for you to just wish that he'd never have such a reaction. But you want and need Dean as he is, the true him, with all of his baggage and all of his problems. If he hadn't reacted that way, after putting both of you through _that_ kind of pain, abusing you to a degree that was so soul-crushingly  _mean_... well, then he wouldn't have been Dean.

You may be the one who wished upon the pearl. But that doesn't mean he is your puppet or your pawn; you would never just compel him to want everything you want, conveniently agree with all that you desire. So when it comes to fucking other girls, breaking your heart by laughing about how much better they are, hammering home the fact that you will always be inferior... if your real fiancé isn't comfortable going that far, then you wouldn't use the power of the pearl to make it so. Wouldn't force him to get off on that kind of thing just because it's your universe. No—he has never been yours to control. You have utter respect for his limits, as he has for yours... putting aside the fact that you don't have any with him, of course. Even in this world, just as in any other, Dean Winchester is always your master, in every sense of the word. You wouldn't want it any other way, ever.

You remember how you had convinced him of this, while you two were innocently cuddling in bed and making out like love-drunk teenagers. You remember easing all of his concerns till he felt fully reassured: "See, I told you, baby—you can trust this world. This fantasy universe built on my deepest desires. You know it would've been much easier, for me, to wish away your inhibitions, insecurities... make you see me as I see me, in all my inferiority. This whole thing would've gone a lot more smoothly. But deep down, I wouldn't want that, Dean. It's like I told you, when we first arrived on this scene: I would never want a universe where you're not really  _you_." And you had told him and had shown him, till he knew, really believed it to be true.

And now that he does... he can let himself get off on every dirty thing that you both want to do. Get off on ganging up with five other men, five other versions of him, to degrade and dominate and fucking destroy you.

Director Ackles' camera is still rolling all the while, you notice, at the far end of the room. _This part of the porn must be boring as fuck_ , you think—just hours of you sitting alone in silence. These scenes will definitely have to be cut from the final product.

For several more minutes, you stay here alone with your thoughts. And then, when the door to the dungeon swings open... you're pretty sure you just came, right in that moment.

You can't help but look up, to see your gorgeous gods come in. The six of them enter, one after the other, and they look so good that you can't even handle it, just fucking _can't_. Your one true Dean is at the front, just as you always want.

"Look at this desperate little cunt," he taunts, his green gaze dark and dominant. "Just the sight of us is enough to make her come. Dirty slut. Guess she hasn't learned her lesson, even after all that punishment..."

"Oh, don't act all tough," the demon butts in with a beastly laugh. "Not about _that_. We all know your weak ass couldn't actually go through it—with screwing other women. No, you went soft... because you're in _love_..."

"As if you're one to talk," Holster huffs. "Deep down, you love her just as much. Think you're a heartless monster just because you've got a monster cock? Well, think again. 'Cause even as a demon, no version of me would ever  _really_ wanna fuck another woman."

That shuts the demon up. To hide your self-indulgent smile, at how motherfucking cute it is to see your doms fighting and teasing each other like this—to hear them admit that they love you, no matter how much they may treat you like a worthless piece of shit, during this kinky sex session—you bite your bottom lip and bow your head back down again.

But then... then you hear something different from King Jensen.

"Well, good thing I'm not just another version of the same pussy-whipped man," he chuckles with amusement. "May be wearing this same mighty fine skin, but I sure as hell ain't in love with Y/N. 'Cause I'm not _really_ Dean Winchester, remember? Till this gang-bang began, I'd never even met her."

Only now do you realize just how true that is. You would've realized sooner, if you weren't so goddamned stupid. After all, Jensen Ackles is an actor from another universe in which you're nothing but a fictional character. _Of course_ he doesn't love you like Dean does. 'Cause he's not really Dean. He never was. Same goes for Mr. Smith; he comes from a dimension where you don't even exist. And as for Michael, the high and mighty archangel, the host of fucking heaven, one of the most powerful beings in all creation... well, in all his holiness, he probably literally sees you as a speck of dust, a sack of scum, an absolute and utter piece of shit.

For those three, that's just how it is. Whereas the true Dean, the gun-wielding version from 2014, and even the demon all share the same identity, the same heart—one that loves you more than all the world, one that would never really want another girl... that's not true of the others. They're not bound by the deep, faithful love and devotion between you and Dean, because they share no part of it.

And you know just what that means. As the realization hits, you look up quickly at your one true love, to see his emerald eyes darken a bit. Then he smirks and flashes you the hottest little wink. It's obvious that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking. That  _this_ is how you'll get to indulge in your most masochistic, dignity-destroying kink. Hearing these three other forms of him—mere lookalikes, really, with a resemblance that's only skin-deep—humiliate and ruin you by talking all about the other women they have screwed... Dean is totally down for that kind of thing, since these men aren't really him. Hell, he won't even blink. _If anything, maybe some kinky side of him might even enjoy it_ , you dare to imagine.

Meanwhile, Jensen isn't done talking. Your pathetic little pussy gets all soaking wet as you listen.

"You know, princess—this may be a world built on your wishes, but outside of this room... it's still full of beautiful women," he claims, stepping toward you, placing his regal finger underneath your trembling chin. "Especially in my industry: show business. _So_ many stunning celebrities. Professionals who make a living off of looking pretty. Just like me. Sure, I've got plenty of valuable skills, but being so damn gorgeous—so superior to everybody else—well, that's what _really_ pays the bills."

The way his glowing gaze and sinful fingers trace across your face in slow suggestive lines is sending shivers up your spine, setting your nerves ablaze with white hot chills.

"Between my world and yours, the only difference in the entertainment industry is that, in this reality, the _Supernatural_ cast—including my real-life wife and me—don't exist. Or at least I didn't, till you fantasized about it," he reminds you with a playful little wink that touches you right in the clit. "But now that you've brought me here, to this dream dimension where I ain't tied down to anyone... I figured I'd pay this alternate Hollywood a visit. And _damn_ did I fuck some hot bitches."

He briefly shuts his eyes and bites his lip, and through his pants you see the outline of his big, stiffening dick. With your face near the level of his cock, it's almost close enough for you to lick...

But that's not what's going down, just yet. For now he simply sticks his finger in your sloppy mouth, letting you kiss and suck it while he goes on about other, _hotter_ chicks. "Mmm. Jessica Alba is probably my favorite..."

_Well, hell—this guy ain't playing games_ , you think. That woman's beauty is legendary, fucking infinite. Enough to make anyone else look like a sorry piece of shit. Although no one could ever be the female equivalent of your lover, a true match for the utter perfection of Dean, worthy of being King Ackles' queen... Jessica Alba probably comes as close as any girl could dream. Watching and hearing Jensen getting so hard at the thought of her, while feeding you his finger, feels like the hottest thing _ever_. But then his other hand starts reaching in his pants, and... clearly, there is only one way this could get any better.

And so it does. He doesn't even stop to take a pause. Just pulls out his magnificent dick and starts torturing your pathetic little face with it. Rubbing it over your forehead, smacking it against your cheek, denying you the privilege of tasting it just yet, getting you wetter with the tease and with each dirty word he speaks. "You know, back in my universe, Jess and I co-starred in a show, when we were young. _Dark Angel_ , though that dirty devil had a sex drive straight from hell. Such a slutty little cunt. Think she blew me between... pretty much every scene," he reminisces lustfully, looking down to see you in all your inferiority, his eyes flashing gorgeously green. "I would always come harder than ever, looking at that flawless face of hers, her beautiful body— _fuck_ , she was so fit—Jess always loved it when I shoved my cock between her perfect tits, while she sucked on the tip with those thick, sexy dick-sucking lips. And then I'd eat her tight pink pussy... _God_ , she tasted as amazing as she looked, so sweet and juicy. Total goddess, to be honest. Nothing like your sorry ass. Sure, I may call you 'princess' during sex, for kicks, but we all know deep down you're lower than a peasant. Nothing but a filthy piece of shit. Fucking  _worthless_."

If you weren't gagging on your king's thick fingers as he shoves in four at once, probing all over your salivating tongue, you would be thanking him, singing his praises, moans and sighs of _'Yes, Your Highness'_...

And in the meantime he keeps getting off thinking of someone else. "Ugh, my dick gets so much _harder_ if I just pretend you're her. In every goddamn way, she's _so_ much better. _Fuck_  yes, Jessica... Jess..." he passionately says, starting to break a sweat, beautiful beads of it glistening on his forehead, blissed out and breathless. "In this reality, she'd never even met me. But as soon as I randomly dropped by her big fancy house, while her husband was out, she dropped down to her knees. Complete stranger to her, in this world, but I told her my name just so she would have something to scream— _oh God, Jensen, please fuck me, please_... Guess pretty little Jess still has the same thirst, in this universe."

When he finally pulls his fingers out and positions his huge cock in front of your wide gaping mouth, rock hard and gleaming with precome from fantasizing about _her_... the humiliation of it all is that much dirtier, that much worse, tearing you to pieces with how good it hurts.

He's not even done yet, you realize with what he says next. "And then there's my wife. I'm so in love with her—you do know that, right? She's my _life_ ," he proclaims as he slides the tip of his scrumptious cock over your slobbering lips, teasing you even more before plunging inside. "She's so gorgeous. So goddamn perfect. I may screw around, in this world, where Danneel doesn't even exist... yet that's only because to me, all this is nothing but a big long kinky dream. But I fucking _love_ her. Worship her just as she worships me. She's my _queen_. And you know what that makes you? You know what that means?"

_Holy hell_ —you think you do... but you want to hear it from this tower of perfection who's so powerfully degrading you, this king wearing the flawless face of Dean...

Then Jensen thrusts his hips forcefully forth to slam his godlike cock straight down your throat in one swift jolt, huffing a ruthless royal laugh as he watches you drool and choke. "Ugh, just look at you. So desperate to serve me, to please me. When you never could, honestly. A dirty whore like you is worth less than the scum beneath my shoe," he reminds you as his massive meat completely ravages your gag reflex. "You live to worship someone who's in love with someone else. You're a disgusting pig; Danneel's a fucking goddess."

_Yes, yes, yes_... since she's from some other universe, you've never met her, never even seen a picture, but that doesn't really matter—you have no doubt that this woman must be drop-dead stunning, if she won the heart of this glorious king. All of these thoughts run through your mind while all your senses fill with Jensen's scent and flavor, utterly divine... and then he smacks you on the cheek, with his left hand, to make sure that you feel the impact of the wedding band he's wearing. The metallic force of it is cold and cruel upon your skin.

"Feel that, you pathetic little thing? You like the way it stings? Why don't you kiss it. Go on, kiss my fucking ring," he orders, sliding his cock out of your mouth, watching with laughter as your worthless lips eagerly worship the symbol of his love for someone so superior. " _God_ , I wish my gorgeous wife were here to see this... you would beg to kiss her wedding ring, too. Please and service every inch of her, the way a slave like you should do. Bitch, I've got no clue how a queen like her could even be the same species as you."

You have no clue either. Maybe in reality, you have pretty good self-esteem... but you barely have _any_ , in your dirty kinky Dean dreams. And there's just something about this kind of degradation—woman to woman, or more like goddess to good-for-nothing cunt—that's so exquisitely excruciating in how much it  _hurts_. It's not really about Jessica or Danneel; it's about loving and worshiping your king no matter what he feels, even if he worships another, to whom he sees you as infinitely inferior. Even if he gets off on watching you worship her, forces you to serve the two of them together. You know the real Dean would never feel that way about you, but with Jensen, the fantasy of him preferring other women is actually true... and when he's wearing this familiar face, your kinky ass can easily imagine he's your one true lover.

It fucks you over psychologically, emotionally, more than anything you've ever felt before—in all the best and safest ways, since you know how your own fiancé feels, of course. But you're able to forget that, for a moment, in this kinky little universe. Right now more than ever, you feel like the literal scum of the earth, and the subspace is so deep it feels like your insides might burst.

"Put that filthy mouth back on my cock, slave," the king snarls, aggressively yanking your skull back in place. "Want you to swallow my come while I fuck your dumb face like it's Jessica's cunt. Damn, she took my dick so good; she's so  _hot_ , oh God—and when I come, you know who I'll be thinking of. What always gets me off: my queen, my goddess, the woman I _love_..."

_Holy fuck_ , you think as you savor the way Jensen's massive meat hammers your gaping wet throat while you dutifully guzzle and gulp. Your king keeps on pounding and plowing your mouth like it's literally a motherfucking cunt. You and he both are getting off on every second of your total and complete humiliation.

"God, I love Danneel so fucking much..." Jensen blissfully sighs, throwing his head back with closed eyes, to fantasize about his stunning wife. "Just thinking of her gets me so hard I could _die_... bitch, I'm gonna shoot such a huge load down your dirty whore throat. Getting off thinking about how beautiful she is. You want that, don't you. Kinky little piece of shit. Disgusting scum. Your face is just a fucking come dump. And you're gonna drink it all up, every damn drop. You sick twisted _slut_."

Every dirty, degrading word off of his luscious lips is seriously heaven; you could never get enough...

He keeps singing the praises of his wife, love of his life, laughing at your expense to see how much it gets you off. "Ugh _,_ if you were blessed enough to live in our world—if I ever let you watch me make sweet love to her, force you to drink all her delicious juices when she squirts, maybe even let you suck my come fresh from her perfect pussy or her pretty little ass... for you that kind of thing would be a privilege, a gift. And you know it; you get off on it. Because you're fucking _sick_. Ain't that right, slut. Gets your cunt all dripping wet to know that you're so low, so damn pathetic."

You bob your stupid head, in response to those words, up and down so as to nod in a wholehearted _yes_ , and also back and forth, so as to more deeply suck down his big, majestic dick. Giving in to serving as nothing but King Jensen's cocksucking pig. While you perform this service, he's been slapping and spitting on your stupid face for the past several minutes, but you've almost been too focused on his wickedly sadistic words to even notice, lost in pure submissive bliss.

But when his heavy bulging balls begin to tighten—where they're smashed against your bottom lip, smearing his royal sweat all over it—his sack so full it's set to bursting any damn second... you notice then. And know just what's about to happen.

The king's grip on your head, so rough and ruthless, suddenly shifts to a tender caress. Yet you already know it's not because he sees you as his precious little princess. It's because he's pretending that you're someone else. What he says next, the name he screams as he imagines his queen, while filling your throat up with his sweet white cream, confirms what you had figured; 'Dee' must be one of his loving nicknames for her, you guess. " _Dee..._! Oh God, _fuck_ yes—Danneel... unghhh, love you so much... my fucking goddess... _yesss_..."

Gazing up at him with glazed eyes as you guzzle down his juices, the worshipful look on your face oozes " _Thank you Your Highness_ "... Not that he can see you, or would want to—Jensen's eyes are still tightly shut while he thinks of his one true love. His majestic cock twitches and throbs on your tongue, softening with each pulse; you grasp onto his sculpted thighs for dear life, feeling his muscles tight and loose all at once as they rhythmically tense and release and convulse.

By the time he finally pulls his perfect cock out of your pathetic whore mouth, you have swallowed every last drop fully down. Your subspace is so damn intense right now it feels as if you're sinking underground. Though you've indulged in so many naughty kinks with your beloved Dean, you have never been a hole for him to ravage while thinking of someone else, someone superior, the woman of his dreams. Because _you_ are that woman, to him. Always have been. And you know you always will be.

That's what keeps you alive and afloat through all this, safe and sound while you drown, sinking deep into what might've otherwise been such a dangerous abyss, your subspace a bottomless pit of pure darkness. You've never been subjected to such utter degradation. It feels like hell and heaven smashed up into one, and it's fucking _delicious_.

King Jensen then shoves your head toward the floor, snickering as you press your lips into the toe of his boot in a grateful kiss, kicking your face as you wallow in bliss. "That's it—know your place, princess. Your sorry ass ain't worth _shit_ ," he scoffs as he stuffs his gorgeous cock back in his pants and walks off.

From where he's watching, probably with his fist around his own enormous cock, the demon lets out a lewd whistle and a sexy little laugh. "Well, I gotta admit—maybe deep down, the human in me is in love with this bitch, but _that_...that was fucking _hot_."

With your dumb face pressed down to the ground, part of you wants to look up and see the other forms of Dean all around, stroking their massive dicks as they look down... but you've been stuck deep in a vortex of submission with your king, so you're still recovering from your intense focus on him. It feels like you've lost all control over your trembling limbs.

Mr. Smith is the next one to chime in. "You know, _Your Highness_..." he addresses the king, speaking the royal title with exaggerated emphasis. "Sounds like you may be pussy-whipped yourself. Not by this worthless cunt, but by someone else."

You can practically hear Jensen lift his shoulders in a shrug, in the dismissive way that kings so often do. "Yes, it's true. What's it to you?"

"Well, I ain't anybody's bitch," the Boss responds, the rough tone of his voice making your pussy twitch. "I'm a dom through and through. Bitches line up outside my office desperate for the right to kiss my ass and clean my shoes."

And then you hear his footsteps coming toward you, clean and sharp against the cold stone floor. Jensen had left you in a deep state of submission—but by now, just at that sound, you're pretty sure you're ready to be someone else's whore...

Mr. Smith plants his feet right in front of your face, smirking as you raise it toward him, watching as you worship him with your adoring gaze. "All my slaves, all my subordinates, are dirty little sluts—none of them deserve respect or love. They ain't worth it," he states; compared to how the king had spoken of his queen, this is the utter opposite. But he's not done yet. "Even so, though... every one of them is worth _way_ more than this pathetic piece of shit."

_Fuck yes_ —you're all set for the Boss to start describing all his bitches, all the cheap hoes that he ravages and punishes in his high-powered office, and to tell you how even compared to them, your ass is still worth so much less... _so fucking ready for it..._

But then the archangel steps in, right this minute. "That's not saying much, Mr. Smith."

The Boss blinks at the unexpected interruption, then turns to face the host of heaven, eyes darkening angrily. "Excuse me?"

Undaunted as ever, Michael comes closer, pure power radiating from each click of his expensive shoes. "No, I never  _excuse_. Certainly not a self-titled 'boss' sporting obnoxious suspenders and an overpriced suit," he scornfully croons. Though these men are both always dressed to impress, this angel is decked out in heaven's finest; he knows he wears everything best. He smirks at Mr. Smith, reading his mind, the way he can because he's so goddamn divine. "I bet you think, because you bear no love for any women, that you'll be better at indulging in our slave's filthiest kink."

"Oh, I don't think," the Boss aggressively contends. "I _know_."

He looks and sounds hot as fuck when he says it, dripping with alpha-male confidence—regardless of what Michael thinks, the thought of Mr. Smith humiliating you even harder than the king, because of what a loveless dom he is, seems to make perfect sense... he's wrong, though. Because you realize now what makes the kink work best, for your sick inner slut, is the idea of Dean being in love with someone else. Seeing her as you see him, as his goddess. If he doesn't give a shit about the other women that he's fucking, then it just... hurts less. And getting hurt is what you want so desperately. You want and _need_ your dom to break your heart, rip it apart, by brutally rubbing right in your face what you will never be.  _Literally_ rubbing it in your face, by making you worship her beautiful body, eat his sweet come out of her superior pussy...

That truth isn't quite clear to Mr. Smith. But to the archangel, it's obvious. He brushes off the Boss's overconfident response. "Again with the insufferable hubris. You do remember I can shut that pompous mouth of yours up, just like this?" Michael reminds him with a nod of his head and a flick of his wrist. The simple act instantly zips Mr. Smith's full pink lips. "There. Now you will listen. You had said that all of your submissives are worth more than this pathetic piece of shit..."

Now the angel is standing in front of you, devouring you with his eyes, the sheer force of his approach causing the Boss to step aside.

"... but that's not saying much at all, when everyone—every _thing_ —is worth more than this sickening bottom-feeding creature," the archangel snickers. "In all my centuries in heaven and on earth, I've never seen any goddamned thing sink lower than her. So  _every_ woman is superior. Though some women are more so than others."

You're not sure where he's going with this, as he beckons your face upward, with a quick curl of his finger. You shift position till you're kneeling in subservience beneath him, looking up at his angelic face in awestruck wonder.

"I have a taste for... finer things, you see," he states, not even deigning to reach down and touch your good-for-nothing face. "All of humanity is far beneath me—but when we all left this worthless scum down in the dungeon to amuse ourselves with other, better women... well, at least I went for royalty."

From nearby in the room, the demon snorts disdainfully. "What, you mean Kate Motherfucking Middleton?"

"Oh, I prefer Prince Harry's bitch. What's her name again? Meghan...?" Jensen suggestively says. " _Damn_ , the things I'd do to Her Royal Highness..."

The angel quickly shuts them up. "Both, of course. The Duchesses of both Cambridge _and_ Sussex. They may be princesses, but when I suddenly appeared, they both began to beg for filthy sex—like common whores, like low-down peasants. Desperate to be my dirty little pets," he fondly reminisces. "So I was kind enough to fuck them, fill their royal cunts with nephilim. My, how Buckingham Palace will be surprised, if the next in line are born with feathered wings and glowing eyes..."

_Ugh God_ —the archangel's exquisite dirty talk, as always, sets a fire in the soaking space between your shaking thighs...

"Now, I didn't love them. Didn't worship them. The host of fucking heaven bows to no one," he goes on. "And I know that serving someone who serves someone else is what gets your cunt all wet. But how about this, my pathetic little pet..."

He raises his hand till it hovers in the space above your head.

"...how about I give you something else you really want. Something the king couldn't," he ominously suggests. "Rather than mere descriptions... how about I let you have the full experience?"

You're not sure what he means, for a second—but then he presses his smooth palm against your forehead... and you get it. All too clearly, all of a sudden. He's using his celestial force to literally put you through a virtual reality experience, of everything that you so desperately wish would happen. First you get to watch the scene, hotter than anything you'd ever dreamed, of Michael having wild sex with pretty princesses while in the flawless skin of your beloved Dean, flooding their royal pussies with your fiancé's sweet cream. Then he lets you in on the action, ordering you to eat his come out of their cunts, while they mock you for being such a low-down peasant, laughing viciously at your expense. He's even kind enough to let you kiss their lovely pedicured feet and to drink their sweet juices, all three of them showering you down with piss, while the princesses take turns sucking his holy dick, showering it with kisses. Reminding you of how you will never deserve that privilege, since you are such a worthless fucking bitch.

And then the scene shifts—suddenly you're in a luxurious bedroom, in the home of two celebrities living in Austin, Texas: the room where Jensen Ackles and his beautiful wife make love every night... Michael plays a vivid show before your eyes, showing you just how fucking hot and passionate their sex is. And then he plays the fantasy of Jensen bringing you home as his dirty little slave, destined to worship and service both him and his wife, for the rest of your life, all day every day. And the _real_ magic happens when Jensen uses his 'Dean voice' in the bedroom, rough and raspy, just the way Danneel likes, when she tells him to—that's when it's easiest to pretend that he's your one true love, dumping you for another woman, one he worships and loves so much more than he ever loved you... All you want is to die as his come-guzzling slave, while he gets off on breaking your heart in that most twisted way... it's just all you can do...

The archangel plays all of this in detail now, somehow, cramming what feels like centuries of experience into your mind, even though barely two seconds have actually gone by. Of course, you end up in an unconscious heap on the floor—though the experience was virtual, the never-ending orgasm it's giving you is very, _very_ real. More than any mortal should even be able to feel...

It's the face of the one true Dean that's hovering above you, when you finally come to. He strokes your cheek and softly kisses you, the way he loves to do. Whispering sweet nothings, most of which you're too blissed out to even hear, the aftereffects of the archangel's gift still ringing in your ears... but when Dean asks if that was good for you, thankfully that question comes through.

_He shouldn't even have to ask_ , you think. _So adorably dumb_. "Mmm-hmmm," you sensuously hum, finally conscious enough to raise one of your hands to rest against his, where he's cradling your face, brushing your temple with his thumb. "Was imagining up _here_..." you continue, referring to your head, then dropping your other hand down toward your cunt, dripping wet, "...and down _here_... that they were you."

Dean smiles with the light of knowing what you mean. Michael and Jensen were _him_ , in your kinky fantasies. But that was all it was—a fantasy within a fantasy, a dream within this wishfully-crafted reality. He reads your mind before what you say next, wholeheartedly.

You place your hand over the heart that beats for him and only him within your chest; his own touch joins you there in a gentle caress, as you finish your sentence. "...but all the while, in _here_ , I knew it wasn't true."

Because you know he loves you. And you love the way he shows you. Leaning closer, Dean blesses your lips with a kiss, and for a second there you wonder if he's going to make love to you, slow and gentle just like this, in front of the five other versions of him in the room... but you don't have to wonder for long, because when he pulls back from the kiss, he flashes you a filthy wink, making you come undone with the next words off of his lips. Full of all of the darkest, dirtiest promises. Both of you know what you really came here to do.

"Now that that's out of the way, you dirty fucking whore... now you know what it's _finally_ time for. Don't you."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this and that you’re excited for what’s coming nexxxxxxt :D
> 
> Always grateful for kudos and comments! <3


	22. The Time Has Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY BITCHESSS so here the gang-bang does finally begin :D or at least it begins to begin... if that makes any sense. It will take place over multiple chapters, so this is the first. Hope you all like the way it hurts ;)

 

 _So this is it. Holy motherfucking shit._  The time has finally come for you to serve as a goddamn come dumpster for six different versions of Dean Fucking Winchester.

Like, actually. Literally.  _Finally_. You've never wanted anything so badly, ever. Can't imagine anything better. The time has come, for you to get totally fucked, by all six of your doms, to feel them come all over you and deep inside you all at once. Your face, your ass, your cunt—you're just a sack of holes for them to use and fill up like a fucking garbage dump. If your holes aren't enough, they can even cut new ones.  _Whatever the hell they all want..._

"Oh, this is gonna be  _fun_ ," says the demon, walking up to where you're kneeling on the floor before your fiancé, the true Dean's sturdy hands framing your face. Your demonic daddy moves to stand behind you, fingers reaching for your hair and raking through, tilting your head back till it's looking up straight, forcing you to meet the pitch black of his gaze. "It's been a long time coming, slut. How much dick do you think you can take? Hmm? Always knew that you'd been dreaming of a threesome—getting fucked from both ends, by your lover as a demon and a man—but  _damn_... looks like you're begging for a seven-way."

 _Ugh God yes please_ , you silently pray. Were you allowed to talk, you're certain that's what you would say. But there are rules; you must not speak until they let you, and you dare not disobey. Dare not utter aloud how you long for your flawless fiancé to fuck your face while this drop-dead gorgeous demon fucks your ass to hell and the almighty archangel shoves his cock deep in your cunt to fuck you heaven's way...

"You do know I can read your mind, slave?" Michael steps in to say. He approaches from the side, while Dean and the demon have you from the front and from behind. You see the angel coming close, and you watch with wide eyes as he slays you with his savage words. "That dirty little mind of yours. All of your deepest and darkest desires. Knowing just what you so desperately crave... well, I'm tempted to go on making you wait. Making you suffer. Nothing gives me greater pleasure..."

The tip of his forefinger hovers right over your forehead. He could make you come undone with just one touch; nothing would get you wetter. Yet all you can think of is what he just said.  _To drag out the wait any longer—you're honestly not sure if you could survive so much torture..._

"Though perhaps there is one thing more pleasing than making you wait and endure, while we deny what you desire. Perhaps there is another,  _better_ way to make you suffer," he utters, dropping his celestial finger toward your parted lips, allowing you to worship the tip with a kiss. "By giving you just what you wish for... and making it  _hurt_."

At those words, his beautiful eyes flash a bright blinding blue, blazing hot enough to literally burn you. As his gaze traces a searing path of flame across your face, you cannot help but scream in agonizing pleasure.

"Look at you. Screaming like a godforsaken whore," your master sneers sadistically. The blue light fades out, irises flashing back to Dean's crystalline green; with one sweep of his fingers, he instantly heals all the damage that he has just done to your skin, erasing the blood and the burns. You know it's no gesture of mercy, but rather a show of his power. Tears have leaked from your eyes, inevitable when the pain was that intense, and you're breaking so many commandments, you realize: _by looking upon him, by breathing, by even existing_... the archangel notices too, of course. "You know you're disobeying all our orders. Do you  _want_ this to hurt? Is pain the only way to slake your twisted thirst? Are you just  _dying_ for us all to fill your filthy holes until you fucking burst?"

 _Oh fuck yes_. Your body and soul are reduced to a shuddering mess, at those words, setting a wildfire in your weeping cunt. You're aching to respond, but know you shouldn't, so you bite your bottom lip to fight the urge...

"His holy ass asked you a question, babygirl," the demon purrs, his fingers twining in your hair tighter and harder. "Open up that dirty mouth of yours and answer."

" _Yes_...!" you explosively sigh, grateful to have been granted the right to reply. "Yes, Master..."

The archangel smirks down at his pathetic little pet, disgustedly shaking his head. "Sick piece of shit. I think you should hit her," he suggests to the demon, who growls in agreement, ominously grazing your cheek with his dominant fingers. You've been smacked in the face by him so many times before, but something tells you an especially epic bitchslap is in store... and with the words Michael says next, you're even  _more_  sure. He doesn't want to see Daddy just slap you with his palm, like this—no, his instructions are a little more specific. "With your fist."

 _Holy. Mother. Fucking. Shit._ You've fantasized about this, more times than your dignity—or whatever's left of it—wants to admit. Watching Dean, any version of Dean, beat the shit out of his victims or his enemies, bring them to their knees, till they're broken and covered in bloodstains and bruises, has always turned you on like nobody's business. Some part of you is always jealous of the evil sons of bitches that he vanquishes. There's just something about the sheer brute force behind your lover's savage fists that makes your pussy drip. It feels so naughty just to even dream of it. When it comes to Dean, you have a kink for any damn thing, to the point of getting killed by him—but  _this_... of all your kinks, for some reason, wanting him to punch you in the face feels like one of the dirtiest. It's super twisted, fifty shades of masochistic. But that's what you are, for him: a shameless painslut with no limits.

Needless to say, in real life, your fiancé wouldn't stand for this. The level of harm it could inflict—permanent injury, maybe even brain damage... it's far too great a risk. But that's the beauty of this universe: any damage can be totally undone, with just a flick of Michael's wrist.

It's fucking  _perfect_. You gaze up at the one true Dean, who is still standing in front of you, clutching your face in his firm grip. You know how much he loves destroying things. Beating the shit out of monsters and villains with his brutal hands, taking his anger and aggression out in any way he can. But never by punching an innocent woman. Especially not his own girl. Till you came to this world, he would never have done that to you, even if you begged him to. But now, thanks to the pearl... now you can finally be a punching bag for this god of a man.

And it'll be even hotter coming from him as a demon. He can hit you even harder then, with supernatural forces coursing through his veins, imbuing him with extra strength and freeing him from human inhibition. Dean can always throw a mean punch—but even more so as a demon, he can use those vicious fists to fucking crush you into dust. Just the thought of it turns you on so goddamn much...

The true Dean knows just what you wish. Reading your mind, he smiles wickedly and licks his luscious lips. "You want it?" he whispers, caressing your cheek in a way that's soft yet sinister, each stroke of his fingers sending shockwaves of arousal to your throbbing clit. "You want Daddy to punch you in your pretty little face, you kinky bitch? Right before you get banged by all six of these big fucking dicks?"

" _Yes_!—yes, sir...." you eagerly whimper, barely even able to form words. "I want it... I  _need_... Daddy, please..."

"Please  _what_ ," your lover grunts, spitting down onto your salivating tongue, then angling your skull further back to look up at the demon. "Tell him what you want, you naughty fucking cunt."

Staring up at the handsome devil as his filthy little slave, you drown in the deep black of his gaze, meaning every fucking word of what you say. "...I want you to punch me in the face."

And  _damn_ , even just uttering those words feels so good it hurts.

"Oooh," the demon coos, clearly loving the sound of that, mouth curling up into a smirk, aroused and amused by just how desperately you long to be abused. He tightens his grasp on your head, his blunt nails digging into your scalp almost fiercely enough to cut through. "Of course you do. But if I did... then you would come, right there and then, bitch. Wouldn't you."

_Well, that's obviously true..._

In the meantime your fiancé keeps stroking your face, just the way you love best, treating you like his subhuman pet. "And we can't have that, you goddamn greedy slut. Not yet," he says. "You're gonna have to earn the privilege of Daddy punching your pathetic little head."

Another version of your lover speaks up then, from somewhere nearby. You can tell it's His Highness. "Damn right, princess."

The next voice you hear is Holster. "Maybe once we're done using you up as our fucking come dumpster."

" _Hell_  yes," Mr. Smith says, clearly excited and impatient for the main event.

"Mmm. Maybe then, baby. If you take all six of these dicks like a good little girl," the demon concurs, sinful flames blazing behind his black eyes. He flashes you a wink that starts a whole fucking apocalypse between your trembling thighs. "If you even make it out of that alive."

At that, it feels like you've already died.

Thank fuck you haven't yet. Not quite. You're still alive enough to feel the true Dean hoist you up all of a sudden, handling you like you weigh literally nothing, haul your ass across the dungeon, throw you down onto the king bed at the center of the room. You hadn't even been aware that it was there before; maybe it hadn't been. Must have appeared just by magic or something. Of course, you would've been happy to get fucked on a scratchy wooden board, or just the goddamned floor. But this soft sumptuous bed is meant for  _their_  comfort, not yours. Silky sheets, plush pillows, memory foam—as Dean would say, ' _it remembers me_ '—your doms deserve this kind of luxury, all the comforts of home, a bed fit for royalty, while fucking the shit out of their dirty whore. And that's all you live for. Their pleasure.

 _His_  pleasure. Your one true beloved Dean Winchester. You watch with wide-eyed wonder, enamored as ever, as he flings off his shirt and lunges forward, the bare skin of his torso pressed to yours, all firm sculpted muscle and smooth sweaty skin, his eyes a glowing sea of green, his flawless features lit up in the sexiest expression you have ever fucking seen, a filthy dirty smile on his lips, still somehow pure and sweet enough to break your heart to pieces, leaning down to give you a deep passionate kiss, in the moments before... well, before all of  _this_.

"I fucking  _love_ you, Mrs. Winchester," he whispers, and neither of you could care less that the label is still premature. He clasps your hand in his, lifting it to his lips to kiss the diamond on your finger. You've been naked for a while now, except for your engagement ring: you would never want anyone to strip you of this precious thing you're wearing. The token of your love for him. You would sooner be stripped of your own goddamn skin. Still cradling your hand in his, Dean blesses your lips with another kiss. "Don't you forget it.  _Ever._  Love you so much."

You open your mouth to respond; though it goes without saying, you still want to echo his love... but before you can say anything, he speaks again. Of course he does.

"Where do you want us," Dean growls into the tender skin around your ear. And then, all of a sudden, his sturdy hand shifts to your throat, squeezing it hard enough to choke, reminding you just why you're here. As if he ever forgot. "Oh, wait—we don't give a fuck."

With a harsh laugh, he spits on your forehead, lets go of your neck to smack you hard across the cheek, then lifts himself swiftly away from your body and off of the bed. He knows that nothing hurts you worse than his absence, the sensation of being deprived of his touch. At least you can still hear his voice, as he goes on to tease and taunt. "None of us give a fuck what you want. You are  _our_  little toy. To use, abuse, destroy. The way  _we_ want. Because we can. You understand, you worthless cunt?"

As you thrash wildly on the bed, lost in the bliss of being so completely subjugated, your response comes as a frantic nod and whorish grunt.

Holster scoffs down at you in disgust, his fingers twitching on the trigger of his gun. "Dumb little slut. Let's shut her up."

"Amen to that," the angel laughs, staring at you viciously enough to rip you right in half. "You know, I saw the fantasy she had: with her fiancé in her face, my holy staff fucking her cunt, the demon's massive meat deep in her ass... but we can't give it how she wants it. How it's played out in her kinky little head. Each of us will have to fuck another hole of hers instead."

 _Oh, he is such a goddamned savage._ Hotter than anything you could ever imagine. And you fucking love it.

Michael pauses to consider the scene for a second, pondering all possible options like some kind of pornographic architect. Of course the host of heaven could master the fine art of seven-way sex. He gestures toward Holster. "So why don't you get on the bed," he suggests. "Shove your big cock in her dirty little asshole while you hold your pistol up against her head."

"Well, hell—I ain't one to take orders..." Chief mutters as he undoes his fly, whipping his dick out but leaving his jeans on around his thighs, planning to fuck you with his gun holster on, just the way you'd both like. "But bitch, it has been  _way_  too long since I last fucked that sweet little ass of yours."

You quiver with need as the 2014 incarnation of Dean throws off his gray henley, exposing his strong upper body, and climbs smoothly onto the bed, his huge cock in one hand, cocked gun in the other, bending down to hover over you on all fours. You're all ready for him to flip you over...

But the angel apparently has other plans. "Reverse cowgirl."

It almost sounds strange, to hear such a celestial being speaking in crude sexual slang... but somehow it just  _works_ , in this world. Still, the interruption doesn't sit well with Holster. He glares at the archangel over his shoulder.

Michael huffs an exasperated sigh. "How else would the rest of us get to her?" he remarks with a roll of his burning blue eyes. "She can't take all five of these cocks, if you're blocking the way from on top. See, I've thought this through. You would do well to follow my orders. Or else I will make you."

Chief knows it's true. With a disgruntled grumble, he flops down onto his back, but not without reaching around to grab and smack your naked ass. "Fine. Not like I haven't topped from the bottom before." He's right; though any form of Dean is usually on top, sometimes he likes a different view. That's never made him any less dominant over you. So Holster knows just what to say and what to do. "Now get up here and ride this big fat dick, you dirty fucking whore."

 _Fuck yes_ , you think—but then again, you barely have any control over your shaky limbs anymore. You rush to do as told, but it's a struggle, given what a deep subspace you're in, sucking you down like a black hole... you're hardly moving any faster, even when you feel the barrel of his gun pressing against your stupid skull.

"Useless piece of shit," Mr. Smith scornfully spits, using his leather belt against your bare ass as a whip. "Open that slutty fucking hole and sit on his big dick."

"Like  _this_ ," King Jensen says, suddenly joining you on the bed, taking your ass cheeks in his royal grip. Pulling them apart so hard you think your crack might rip. "That's it. Such a filthy fucking princess."

With the help of His Highness's hands, and egged on by each lash of the Boss's cruel whip, soon enough your gaping asshole is aligned with Holster's massive, rock hard dick. Chief snarls with arousal, teasing you at first with just the tip, slicking your sensitive puckered skin with his sticky precome as it oozes and drips. "Mmm. Just look at that tight little ass, bitch. You ready for this?"

You nod desperately, arching your spine as you lose your mind, throwing your head back and biting down hard on your wet lower lip. Holster drops his gun onto the bed to take a hold of both your hips, leaving bruises on your soft skin with his dominating grip. Meanwhile Mr. Smith has started bringing down his belt against your tits, and King Jensen is blessing your face with thick wads of spit, and then— _holy fucking shit_ , all of a sudden you feel something on your tender aching clit. Something familiar, something that has tasted you before. It's wet and warm, and long and strong. And devilishly talented. There's no doubt what it is: the demon's tongue.

Oh, that's got you fucking  _undone_. But the angel is here to remind you that no one has given permission. "Don't come," he commands, as he watches the whole scene from where he so powerfully stands. "Don't you dare fucking come."

It's too late, and he knows it. Your whole being is already convulsing in an earth-shaking explosion. Your ass is still gaping above the tip of Holster's dick, held in position right over it, while the boss and the king abuse every damn inch of your skin, and the demon keeps licking and sucking your sensitive clit. Hell, you haven't even been fucked yet, not by any one of these six dicks, and you already came so hard and wet that you feel literally dead.  _You've been such a bad little pet..._

"Disobedient scum," Michael addresses you as he approaches the bed, spitting onto your forehead and smearing it in with his thumb. "It seems you leave me with no choice, you worthless toy. You already know that I can use this holy touch of mine to bless you with a soul-shattering orgasm. But what you don't know... is that it can also be used to prevent them."

 _Fuck. Fuck._ You shut your eyes, too terrified to even look at him...

"Look at me, cunt," he imperiously grunts. "I want you to watch as my sacred touch forces you into submission. As I compel your worthless body not to ever break this rule that you've been given. From now on, no matter what—no matter just how  _good_  and  _hard_  and  _rough_  you may get fucked... you will  _never_ come again without permission."

 _Ugh, God_ —the thought of this divine archangel wielding such complete control, such absolute denial, over all your goddamn orgasms... just the thought is hot enough to make you come. But now you  _can't_ , thanks to the cruel touch of his hand. Until he grants the privilege, you never will again. It's more than you can stand. Your soaking cunt, your very core, is bursting at the seams, and you're too numb to even scream. This kind of torture is beyond all of your wildest and most twisted dreams... and it's exactly what the shameless slut inside you needs. There is no greater bliss than suffering at the hands of your beloved Dean.

Or, in this case, the archangel wearing his skin. Michael may be celestial, but he's hot as literal  _hell_  in this vessel, divine to the point of damnation, salvation and sin. Especially now that he has compelled you to obey him. You only ever wanted to obey, but didn't have the strength, to follow through with it... and your master has chosen to punish your weakness by eliminating it. Forcing you to submit. It hurts so good, so bad, to be thrust into such a state of pure submission. Like your whole soul has been ripped apart and split open.

"Well, then—now that we know the most crucial rule won't be broken..." the angel says, eyes glowing bright blue as they trace your face, gloating in pride and pleasure at the new level of pain that he's awoken. What he utters next may not seem typical of the high host of heaven—but this is neither the first nor the last sexual slang term that his sacred lips have spoken. "Let the gang-bang begin."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this and that you're excited for what's coming next!! :D
> 
> Always grateful for kudos and comments! <3


	23. For All You're Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii Deanbitches! In this scene, the gang-bang continues... shit gets pretty kinky and dark and twisted... as you all probably knew to expect... so enough said, I guess ;)

 

 _Let the gang-bang begin_.

Just hearing those words is enough to make you come, again and again and again. And yet you  _can't_ —not even once—after the curse the angel placed upon your cunt. You gawk up at his flawless face, worshiping it with your gaze, silently thanking him for the torture. His gorgeousness just turns you on even more, making your forbidden climax that much harder to endure... but this excruciating pain is everything you want.

Michael knows it, better than anyone. "Now... that's a good fucking slave. Finally forced to behave. Do you like looking up at your master, you dumb little pet? Love how it hurts, makes the pain in your cunt even worse, when the sight of me gets you so wet?" he mercilessly taunts.

The answer is so obvious that there's no need for a response. Which is a good thing, as you couldn't even manage one; your sanity is too fucking far-gone. All this while, your ass has still been in position above Holster's dick, his leaking tip pressing against your rear entrance. Chief is holding you there in reverse cowgirl, just as the angel had ordered, so all of the others can still access you from the front. The demon has taken advantage of that, leaning over the bed between your open legs—he's still going down on you, going to town on you, ravishing your swollen clit and your slick pussy lips with his wickedly talented tongue.  _God_ , you'd almost forgotten,  _that devilish tongue is so long... so damn savage and strong... especially when it keeps fucking you so hard, so good, better than any cock ever could..._

Well, not quite—all six dicks in the room can fuck harder and deeper, for sure, as you'll learn soon tonight. Right in this moment, though, it feels as if this demon tongue is all you've ever known...

The one true Dean smirks down at you sadistically, arousal stirring in his crotch, looking on as your demonic daddy makes you squeal and moan. You love to suffer, and your lover loves to watch. "Think she's enjoying this too much," he tells the demon. "That tongue of yours is making her forget that she exists not to be licked... but to be  _fucked_. By all of us, by all six of these big fucking dicks. That she is nothing but our filthy little cockslut."

"Mmm," the demon hums in full agreement with your fiancé, his luscious lips vibrating dangerously against your clit, then lifting away from your mound with a loud sloppy suctioning sound. His tongue flicks out to lick your flavor from the edges of his mouth, every last trace; he looks hotter than ever with your juices glistening across his face. "Damn straight. But hey, you can't blame me for wanting a taste..."

"Oh, I can blame you for any damn thing. You're  _disgusting_ ," the angel states, grimacing as the demon sinks his teeth into your inner thigh and slurps up all the squirt that has dripped down your tender skin. "Lowering your lips to please this worthless bitch. This good-for-nothing pig."

The handsome devil shakes his head and snickers, pulling away from your legs to admire the bite marks he's left, grazing the sensitive flesh with his fingers. "Nah, this ain't about pleasing her. Who gives a shit about her pleasure. Ours is all that matters," he purrs, black eyes locked onto yours as he stands at the edge of the bed and yanks off his red shirt. "I just love the taste of her torture. Nothing gets my dick wetter. Bigger... harder... so that I can fuck her better."

 _Holy mother of fuck_. He reaches down to free the raging bulge within his jeans, his massive meat straining against the seams, hard as a rock. Daddy has always been big on talking dirty, but you know better than anyone: his cock is even bigger than his talk.

And when he finally pulls it out, your tongue practically jumps out of your mouth.It's motherfucking  _huge_ —which you already knew—yet now it's even longer and thicker than you had remembered. The very definition of a monster cock, more so than it has ever been. A deadly weapon that gets off on dominating and destroying things. It's darker than the dicks you've seen on all the other versions of Dean: still the same perfect pink, but with a daunting purple tinge, tinted with red from all the raging blood that's pulsating so powerfully within. Prominent veins ripple across the throbbing length, exuding raw sexual energy and strength, the promise of a thousand sins.  _You're dying to commit every damn sin there is, with him..._

"Like what you see, bitch?" he teases, taking the thick shaft in his fist, watching you stare in awe as he jacks himself off with long slow strokes and lingering squeezes. Putting on a show that renders you a speechless piece of shit. "Wanna give it a kiss?"

In that instant, your face lurches forward on instinct, your drooling tongue stretching out over your slick bottom lip. You would lay down your life just to worship this big demon dick. The flared head is wet with his juices, filling your senses with his rich musky scent as his meat swells and oozes. A sweet drop of precome has formed at the tip; you're desperate to catch it, to lick it before it can drip.

While Holster maintains his firm grip on your shuddering hips, you arch your upper body forward, angling your head toward the demon standing at the edge of the bed.  _You're just inches away..._

What happens next is something that you've often dreamt, but didn't quite expect. This is when it finally happens, and the shock factor just makes it even hotter, in this moment: as your pathetic tongue squirms toward his perfect cock, so thirsty for a taste... that is when Demon Dean punches you in the face.

You gasp in pure bliss upon impact, in love with the feel of his fist smashing into your jaw with a loud crack, so hard that the bone fucking breaks. Shockwaves of pleasure and pain are at war in your brain, till they blur into one and the same. The violent violation, the destructive degradation of the act, is so much more than you can take. You would've come harder than ever, if you could have—that's a fact. And the fact that you can't makes your whole body ache.

With a savage laugh, the demon deals a rough punch to your other cheek. From his first blow, you had felt your jaw dislocate; in a twisted way, the second sets it right back into place. He grabs a fistful of your hair, angling your face to look up at him. You can't keep your own head steady, in the state you're in, shattered and weak.

"You like that, slut?" he asks, as if you have any ability to speak. His thumb swipes callously across your bloody lower lip. "Like it when Daddy beats the shit out of you? Mmm, 'course you do. You kinky little bitch."

Of course it's true. All you want right now is another fucking hit... but the real Dean has other plans. He reaches down to frame your breathless, broken face in his beloved hands. "Can't stand the sight of you like this," he grunts—which deep down is a statement of his love, the way he hates to see his dear fiancée suffering such damage—but in this filthy twisted fantasy, your masochistic mind takes it a little differently: as him calling you hideous. 

The sensation of the love of your life, this flawless Adonis, sneering down at you with such disgust, insulting your appearance... it's something you have never experienced. But  _God_ , it hurts like hell and feels like heaven. You have always known that anyone would be an ugly fuck compared to him, and you are no exception. In reality, Dean may be blind to how inferior you are—from the bottom of his heart, he truly thinks you're beautiful, inside and out. Always has. No degree of damage from a demon's fist or anything could change that. Even if a damn bulldozer ran you over, he would still think you're the prettiest girl in the world, without a doubt. 

Yet here and now, thanks to the pearl... you can pretend he doesn't. And he knows it, knows just how much you get off on it. Especially with the next words that you hear off of his perfect lips, as he puckers them above your gaping mouth and spits. "You look like  _shit_."

 _Oh fucking fuck_. You have never felt more brutally degraded than in this mind-blowing moment. The evil laughter of six versions of your lover echoing throughout the room sets off a fire in your subjugated cunt.

"And that's exactly what she is," the archangel chimes in. "A broken sack of shit. Even more so with her face all busted up like this."

The true Dean bites his lip to hide his grimace. "Nothing your magic touch can't fix. Now get her back in one piece, to take all these big fucking dicks."

Michael's sinful lips curve up into a smirk. "With pleasure," he says as he reaches toward your face, sending white hot waves of grace through your veins with one touch of his hand. Healing you in a flash, the way only he can. "Mmm, that's better. Gonna need this jaw intact, to swallow down my holy shaft."

Your jaw falls open with a deep groan of desire at the sound of  _that_. Although your master has just fixed it up, as good as new, you cannot wait for him to face-fuck you, until it breaks again, to pound his sacred cock into your skull until it cracks... just the thought is so hot that you fucking collapse.

"Such a pathetic piece of trash," the angel laughs. He nods toward Holster, who is still lying beneath you on the bed—now that you've fallen onto him, the sweat-slick muscles of his torso press deliciously against your naked back. You can feel every firm sculpted ridge, every rippling bulge, of his chest and his abs... then, as if you're not already ruined enough, Michael issues an order to Chief that gives you a goddamn heart attack. "Now why don't you shut this bitch up. Stick that gun in her dirty whore mouth before stuffing your cock up her ass."

Holster lets out a low throaty growl as he instantly rams his pistol down your wide open mouth. "You like that, slut?" he rasps.

You scream around the hunk of metal as it rubs against your tonsils, the obvious answer too stifled to pass.  _Yes yes fucking fuck yes_...

The angel gives an order to the demon next. "Now rub your cock against her clit. You two are gonna fuck her gaping ass and greedy cunt, both holes at once. But first she's gonna beg for it."

 _Oh holy shit_. Your screams are louder and more desperate as the pistol pushes further past your thirsting lips.

"What's that? Can't hear you, bitch," the demon teases as he settles on his knees between your legs, pressing his massive cock against your supple flesh, making your pussy drip. He rubs his dick across your slick sensitive crotch, getting it even wetter with his juices, precome seeping from the tip. "Your master said you have to  _beg_. You stupid piece of shit."

As you struggle and fail to obey, Holster huffs out a laugh and keeps pumping his gun like a sex toy across your tongue, sliding it roughly in and out. Never far out enough for you to manage words, though. To the same rhythm, his cock keeps grinding up against your ass, grazing your aching hole. "Now if I pull this gun out of your filthy fucking mouth, you gonna do as told? Do whatever we say, like a good little girl?"

You bob your head, limbs thrashing madly on the bed. Sinking deeper into the subspace that has now become your world.

"Guess that's a yes," he snickers, yanking out the weapon from your mouth with brutal force. "Then go ahead, whore. Fucking  _beg_."

"Mmmphfuck, yes—thank you, Chief...!" you whimper frantically. " _Please_ , Chief—please, Daddy! Ugh God,  _please_..."

"That ain't good enough, slut," the demon scolds, slapping your face, wrapping his hand around your gasping neck and tightening his hold. "Please  _what_."

 _Fuck—_ you can't even speak... but then his grip releases just enough for you to scream one desperate plea. "P-please fuck me...!"

"Mmm, that's it. Dirty bitch," Holster grunts as the head of his dick pokes against your back entrance, coming in from the rear while the demon's huge monster cock threatens the front. Chief bites down on the lobe of your ear, arousing you to death with the husk of his voice and the heat of his breath, with the touch of his teeth and his lips. "If you fucking insist..."

The demon leans down, tongue attacking your mouth with a soul-sucking, face-fucking kiss, then pulling quickly back, eyes flashing black as he and Chief prepare to pound you both at once with their enormous dicks. "Now, babygirl... don't say you didn't ask for this."

You know you did. So many nights, you've dreamt of it. But nothing,  _nothing_ , in your wildest dreams could ever have compared to just how mind-blowing it actually is.

This glorious god of a man, Dean Fucking Winchester, the one you'll always love and live to worship... not just one, but  _two,_ versions of him are buried deep inside of you. It feels like every cell in your body is set to burst; you fucking love the way it hurts. After the first thrust—Holster hammering his cock into your tight ass when the demon plunged his dick into your dripping cunt, that very instant—after that, they fall into a rhythm, both descending into animals, blazing a downward spiral straight to hell and bringing you with them, taking turns drilling your holes, a steady pulse of in-and-out and push-and-pull. A beat that tears your core in half and yet fulfills your whole damn soul. The very beat of your own heart has now become theirs to control.

Your head falls back into the crook of Holster's neck, just as the demon grabs your throat until you choke, vision a blur as your eyes roll, your brain a blasted bomb within your skull. Forget hitting the G-spot; these two cocks are fucking smashing through it, making new ones as they do it, out of every nerve you've got. Nothing in all your twisted fantasies has ever been so hot. You've never felt so fucking  _full_.

And this is just two—only two of the six, all the dominant dicks that are here to destroy you.  _You can't imagine what will happen when you finally take them all..._

But you won't even have to. Won't have to imagine a thing, for you suddenly feel a firm grip on your wrist—first the right, then the left, digging harshly enough to leave long lasting scars on your skin. Though you don't have the strength to raise your head and see what's happening, somehow you can just tell whose grip it is. To the right is Mr. Smith, the boss of everything, and to the left is Jensen Fucking Ackles, your almighty king. They've been on either side of you for all this time, watching, waiting for the gang-bang to begin; now it's high time that they join in.

"That's it. Put her to work," the angel tells them with a wicked smirk. "We're gonna use every damn hole of yours, you filthy little whore. Fuck you for all you're worth."

To the tune of Michael's words, Jensen and Mr. Smith wrap each of your pathetic hands around their flawless dicks— _oh shit_ , you think with a sharp jolt of panic,  _they are so damn thick_ —your fingers falter, frantic, fumbling and failing to encase their massive girth.

The archangel observes the scene upon the bed before shifting to take his own position, near your head. "For all you're worth..." he says again, reaching for his own belt buckle just then. He finishes his sentence, every word off of his lips a sacred sin, seeping in deep beneath your skin. "...which is  _nothing_." 

You've never known it more than in this moment, as his holy cock springs free, at last, too goddamn glorious for mortal eyes to see. His magnificent meat hovers inches above your face as Holster keeps on pistoning his cock into your ass, and as the demon rams your pussy, while your eager hands struggle to stroke the huge shafts of your boss and your king, each of them thrusting into the heat of your grasp, thick and throbbing. 

The angel's scepter is the same as all of them, and yet so  _different_. The power and perfection of his heavenly erection... the exquisite shape and size, the perfect angle at which it stands proud between his mighty thighs, the purest and most stunning shade of pink. There are no words fit to describe something so utterly divine. Its beauty blows your mind, beyond enough to strike you blind. You hope it doesn't, for you cannot bear the thought—now that you've seen it once, it's all you'll ever want. To see, to smell, to touch, to  _taste_... to feel it ravaging your face... you're certain now that, even if you were to try, you could never escape this endless pit of perfect subspace. Especially since your celestial master is the one in full control, of your entire broken body, every hole, your heart and mind and soul—all centered in this instant in the core of your submission: the explosion just dying to happen—to grant the release you so desperately want, fucking  _need_... the victim of his vicious denial, lost deep in the heat of your soaking wet cunt.

It feels like you're literally doomed to die before you can get fucked by all five cocks at once. Let alone all fucking  _six_ , when the true Dean, who has been looking on, for so long, finally decides to join in, with his beautiful cock, by far the most beloved of all of these dicks.  _If he can even find a place to fit_ , you think. Another hole in you to screw. Or cut a new one, as it were, given that all seem to be taken. With the way that every fiber of your being is so unbearably aching, you seriously wonder if your heart might stop and cause you to drop dead before this dream can even fully come to life.  _God, you hope not_ —though you know that the angel can revive you on demand, with one touch of his hand, so there's some comfort in that thought...

 _Will it come to that, though?_ Who fucking knows. You most certainly don't. You don't know anything, in this moment, as your worthless mouth gapes wide open to take in the cock of the heavenly host. Desperate to taste his holy grace fucking your face, filling your throat. He holds it in front of your mesmerized eyes, above your trembling lips, like the ultimate prize that it is— _so raging hard... so fucking perfect... so damn far..._

Yet so... damn...  _close_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all are enjoying the ride and excited for what's coming next ;D
> 
> Always grateful for kudos and comments!! <3


	24. Take Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii Deanbitches! Sorry for updating less often lately — life is still keeping me busy :( But believe me that I still write Deansmut whenever I possibly can!! Hope you'll enjoy this scene! Picking up where we left off, getting gang-banged by Dean ;)

The hottest archangel in heaven is about to fuck your face. To feed you with his holy cock and let you taste his grace. You'll then be filled in every hole with not just one, not two... not even three or four... but  _five_  of your beloved Dean. Bringing to life the filthy fantasies that you've longed to explore, fulfilling all your darkest dreams.

Yet at the core of all of this is one man only:  _him_. Your one true love, your god, your king. Your everything. Although the angel's dick is hovering inches above your face, here on this bed, somehow you manage now to shift your focus off of it and slightly tilt your head. To focus in this moment on someone much more important. Michael may be fucking perfect, but that's just because he's in his perfect vessel. So before you suck him dry, you feel a burning need right now to meet the gaze of your fiancé, standing close by, close enough for you to glimpse his gorgeous green eyes, in the space between the other lesser versions of himself.

He's looking at you—you and only you, the way he loves to do. The way he always does. He blinks once, slow and soft, a butterfly kiss from a distance, hot enough to get you off. He knows that every flutter of his lashes sets your heart abuzz.  _Giving you life as he fucking kills you dead..._

And then he speaks, giving you strength just as he makes you weak. "Go on, baby. Go ahead," he murmurs, with a nod toward the scene upon the bed. "Ain't this what you always wanted? Drowning in a sea of me?"

Your mind runs wild in reply, a silent scream,  _oh God yes please..._

"I know you love the real thing best..." Dean teases, coming closer, leaning down over your body, toward your chest, pressing a long passionate kiss upon the space between your breasts. His eyes are on yours all the while, as he flashes you a pussy-slaying smile. Then runs his slick tongue in a line across the smooth skin of your neck, over your chin, up to your lips. "...but don't you worry, sweetheart—I'll be joining in the party, once it starts. Promise."

As if you weren't already completely convinced, you are dead certain now that Dean Winchester is the hottest motherfucker to ever exist. At this point his whole body, bare naked and sweaty, is on top of yours, hovering over you like a damn animal on all fours. He has seamlessly inserted himself front and center, in the midst of all the others. No doubt in this position they're all bumping up against him, but it's not like that's a problem—all just different incarnations of the same beautiful skin. And right now he's here to remind them that you're nobody but  _his_  own dirty whore. 

Even while Holster is still fucking your crack from where he lies beneath your back... as the demon keeps ramming his monster cock deep in your soaking wet slit, so that your pussy and your ass are both under attack... while the Boss and His Highness, from opposite sides, fuck their massive dicks into your fists... and as the host of heaven holds out his almighty staff, inches above your head, ready to ravage your throat till your skull breaks in half... still, you belong to only one god of a man: the one who has your whole entire soul in his command, the one who holds your heart within his loving hands. Always will, always have.

You love the way he knows it. Owns it. Seals it with a kiss.

"I fucking love you, bitch," he breathes against your breathless lips. Then takes a firm grip of your chin and tilts your head back, toward the big angelic cock hovering over it. Four of your holes are full; time for the fifth. The way the true Dean takes control—of you, of all of this—is such a fucking gift. "Now suck that fucking dick."

Needless to say, you happily obey. It feels so good to do as told. As your eyes roll blissfully back into your skull, you angle your head further backward, gaping your jaw open wide to take the angel's cock just as your lover ordered, giving Michael perfect access to your sloppy fucking facehole. And your heavenly master takes full advantage of that. Hard and fast. Plunging his length past your lips in one swift, savage stroke. Stuffing you full of his throbbing shaft, as the head of his dick hammers into the back of your throat, letting out a dark sinister laugh while he watches you splutter and gag, gulp him down till you choke.

"Mmm, there we go," the angel groans, smashing his heavy sweat-soaked balls against your nose. Even from down below, even with your eyes closed, you can feel the celestial blue light in his gaze as it glows. It feels as if his sacred grace is coursing through his cock and straight into your face, and all you want to do is swallow. Maybe he'll come in your mouth, if you behave. Of course he knows that's what you crave. "Good little slave."

He pulls out halfway, just to push in even deeper in the next split second, blessing you with fifty shades of heaven. Over and over again. You wish this epic facefuck session never had to end. Michael's crotch and your snout are now smeared with a wet, sticky mess of your spit and his juices, sloshing from the sides of your mouth as he keeps on pumping in and out. It's flooding your nostrils; you can't even breathe. You open your eyes wide, from where your head lies in between his mighty thighs, not even caring if the thick white fluids flow inside and strike you blind—that's how desperate you are to gaze up at the glorious crack of his ass as he feeds you his meat. You hear Chief growl and bite your ear, from where he lies beneath, grazing your soft flesh with his ruthless teeth. Similar sounds resound from all around. Every version of Dean in the room is insanely aroused.

Your one true love is still above you all this while. His flawless face is close enough that you can feel the heat of his sadistic smile. He has his hand around your throat, crushing your airflow, squeezing hard enough to strangle, tightening the hole that's getting fucked by the archangel. That seems to just heighten the pleasure for Michael, working together with Dean Winchester, the owner of the same meatsuit that he himself is wearing, in perfect sync with his perfect vessel.  _Even angels love and worship him, much as they should;_  you can just tell. Against your tongue, tasting so good, your master's holy cock feels even thicker, longer, stronger as it swells.

The true Dean seems to notice, too. "Fucking hell—look at you, taking that cock so damn well. Filthy slut," he grunts, his other hand sliding down toward your cunt, which is still getting plowed by the demon. Your fiancé starts toying with your clit, so sensitive it feels practically numb, between his forefinger and thumb. As if you needed  _more_ to make you come undone. "Who knew you could take five dicks at once."

_Well, right now everybody does_. And yet  _his_ is the only one you truly need, the only one you'll ever love.

Then suddenly, he starts to shift—your sweat-slick skin clings onto his, as if attempting to resist, to fight the motion as he lifts. Thankfully, he isn't trying to leave; just repositioning his body, anchoring your torso down onto the bed between his knees. You don't doubt that his gorgeous cock must be enormous and rock hard right now.  _If only you could see..._

"Such a good slut. For all of us," he dominantly coos, reaching down toward your breasts, thick fingers torturing your nipples as he pinches, pulls and twists, then grabbing both your tits within his brutal fists, blunt nails digging into your soft skin hard enough to scar and bruise. "But who  _really_  owns you? Controls you?"

The answer is so obvious it aches. He knows it's true. But you can't say it, while the angel fucks your face until it breaks. Can't even answer your fiancé with your loving gaze.  _You do, sir. You do. You're the one that I belong to._

"Who?" Dean repeats, as you gag on the archangel's meat. "Hmm? Too busy taking cock, can't even speak?"

_Fucking fuck_ —you've never felt so dominated, utterly degraded and humiliated, so wasted and weak...

And your one true love has plenty more in store. "Tell me, you worthless fucking whore," he commands as he crushes your tits in his merciless hands. Your heart is set to burst out of your chest; it's so much more than you can stand. He feels that too, of course. "Who does this heart beat for?"

You're longing so badly to answer, as Michael starts pounding your mouth even harder and faster.  _For you, sir..._

"Guess I'll just have to fuck the answer out of you. Dumb little bitch. Is that what you want me to do?" Dean snarls, lowering his hips until his raging cock brushes against your tits. 

_Oh holy shit_ , you think—the contact of his big beloved dick upon your aching skin... it's fucking  _everything_. And this is just the tip, tracing a path against your chest, marking the place where he can feel your racing heartbeat. The head of his cock leaves a trail of precome in its wake, sticky and sweet. You wish that you could taste each precious drop that spills and leaks. But you can't do a damn thing. Still can't even speak. All you can do is lie here, just a sack of fuckholes, while your true love marks his territory, your heart as his property, your whole body and soul his to own and control.

"You're  _mine_ ," he claims, as if that is your fucking name. It may as well be, since he owns you so completely. And the way he says and shows it now is  _so_ fucking divine. 

Some sick part of you wishes that Dean would just rip your heart out of your chest, shove his dick in that red hunk of flesh, beating still as he watches you bleeding to death, fuck your poor heart to pieces, then crush it to dust in his fist. But even for you, even here in this world created by the pearl—and definitely for him—that's a little  _too_  sick. Even your twisted kinks have some limits. You like the idea of it, though.  _As a way of showing just how much you fucking love him, how your heart beats for him, bleeds for him, more than he'll never know..._

Yet as it is, for better or for worse—better, for sure—that's never gonna happen, even in this universe.

But the true Dean  _is_  gonna join the party. As he'd promised. By fucking your heart, so to speak, without ripping it out of your body. You should've figured this would be the way to do it. Would've, if you weren't so stupid. Though it had seemed before that all your holes were full, still there is room for him, right where he is: he's gonna fuck your tits.

"This what you want, you kinky piece of shit? If you're so good at taking five dicks..." he taunts as he squeezes your breasts close together, mashing them into each other so that he can fuck them better, "...now take six."

Six dicks it is.

This is exactly what you came for; it's exactly what you get. Six versions of the man you love, the man you worship more than anything, each one so different though they're all wearing the same beloved skin, all teaming up to gang-bang you to death. Your whole existence is reduced to being nothing but their worthless whore, their filthy fucktoy, their pathetic little pet. And you can't even come, thanks to the angel's cruel commandment. Even when you've never been so goddamn wet.

Of course this isn't the first time that Dean has fucked your tits. But he has never fucked them quite like  _this_. For one thing, you're pretty sure he's never been so fucking big. Apparently he really digs this kinky gang-bang scene out of your wildest dreams—his cock seems larger, harder, than it's ever been. His inner beast has never been so violently unleashed. With each thrust of his hips, he sets it free, fucking the shit out of your tits, crushing your whole upper body between his knees. 

With him on top of you like this, in the front seat, the other versions all around him can't compete. Even when your skull is stuffed and smothered by the angel's massive meat, the one true Dean is still the center of your universe. The only one that matters. Your focus is on him, above all else. On the way that, even in the midst of all this filthy sex, somehow it feels as if, deep down, he's making sweet love to the place above where your heart beats, for him, inside your chest. And then there are the mind-blowing sensations at your neck—no body part has ever been so fucking blessed. From within, the archangel is filling your throat with his heavenly dick... while from the outside, more importantly, the flawless cock of your fiancé keeps on sliding forcefully against your tender skin, challenging the archangel to keep up with his rhythm. It's the motherfucking  _best_.

And none of them have even come yet. When they do, you're pretty sure the force of that will knock you dead.

Dean reads your mind, in that moment. "You want our come, you greedy cunt?"

He spits down on your tits as he keeps fucking them to pieces. Filling you even more with the urge to respond, to give the answer that your dumb cocksucking mouth can't quite express.  _Oh God fuck yes_... 

"You want us all to come inside you and all over you?" he taunts, his whiskey-velvet voice dirty and dark, daunting and dominant. "That what you fucking want?"

From behind your lover, just then, you can hear the demon letting out a low gravelly grunt. "Ugh  _shit—_ I swear I'm gonna blow my load now, any fucking second..."

"Go ahead," Dean goads him on. "Shoot all that demon come inside her tight wet cunt."

_Oh God, that's hot_. And he's not done. Of course he's not. He's just begun.

He then tells Chief to use his cock deep in your ass like it's a loaded gun. Tells Mr. Smith and Jensen both to fuck their dicks harder into your desperate little fists, using your hands to jack themselves off till they come. And tells the angel to fill up your filthy throat until his sweet load floods your mouth and coats your tongue.

So that's exactly how it happens. Everything he says, that's how it comes to pass, as he intends. You wouldn't have it any other way. God knows you could do this all fucking day. This is what you have always wanted to become: a come dumpster for your beloved Dean Fucking Winchester. Six versions of him, all at once, all together, can fill you up even better. 

_Fuck, it feels like goddamn gallons._  Thick hot come is overflowing from your gaping ass and dripping cunt, leaking down each leg, splattering all across your stomach, pooling in your belly button, pouring straight into your mouth and spilling out over your snout. You're so completely full in every hole. And best of all, soaking your neck, the skin from your chin to your breasts, blessing the heart that beats within your chest... is all the come from your true love, from the one fucking perfect cock that you could never live without. 

You can honesty die happy now. Maybe you will. You've always known your love for Dean burns hot enough to kill; maybe this is what that means. Time seems to stand painfully still. Staying alive hurts, riding high on rising waves of your own pleasure—higher and higher, never allowed to come down—the forbidden climax, the release that you yourself can never have. It hurts so good, so fucking bad... as your weak grip on consciousness slips, you wonder if, just maybe... maybe this is it.  _Maybe this is the end of the dream, the finale of this fantasy..._

But only if Dean wants it to be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this!! And don't worry, despite those last few sentences of the chapter, this isn't the end ;)
> 
> Always grateful for kudos and comments! <3


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